


Sound and Smoke

by sneetchstar



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Merlin, F/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: The newly-crowned King of Camelot gets some assistance in his rule from an unexpected source.  With unexpected consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Words are mere sound and smoke, dimming the heavenly light.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart.”

Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, is dead.

Killed by an assassin hiding amongst the entertainers hired for Prince Arthur Pendragon’s 21st birthday, the king was killed within the walls of his own castle, his own bedchamber.

That night, Camelot mourns, and the prince keeps vigil, alone in the throne room, beside his father’s body.

The next morning, he emerges to find his two most trusted friends have been keeping a vigil of their own outside the throne room.

“We didn’t want you to feel you were alone,” Merlin, his manservant, explains when he stands. Initially a bumbling oaf of a pest, Merlin has somehow made himself indispensable to Arthur and has become one of the few people the prince would truly trust with his life.

Guinevere, a servant within the castle since they were both children and most recently the late king’s nurse, merely smiles her agreement as Arthur extends his hand down to help her to her feet. Without another word, she opens her arms to him and he bends to her, enfolding himself in her embrace, letting her goodness soothe his ragged soul.

Arthur loves them both. He loves Merlin as a brother and trusted confidant, but would never admit it to anyone.

He loves Guinevere with his entire being, and knows he would be lost without her. She loves him in return, but they have had to keep their love secret, known only to those closest to the prince.

Arthur gently eases out of Guinevere’s embrace, trailing his hand down her arm to catch her hand, which he holds as they silently walk to his quarters. He no longer cares who sees them.

Merlin walks ahead, not out of disrespect, but to give them a semblance of privacy. To intercept any who might wish to disturb his master as he makes his way up to prepare for the coronation.

Sure enough, Lord Agravaine attempts to intercept them.

“Arthur, if I could have a word…”

“You may not,” Merlin answers.

“How dare you!” Agravaine blusters. “You do not speak to your betters this—”

“Agravaine,” Arthur’s voice is low and level. Merlin knows this tone and knows it can be deadly. He bites back his smile.

Agravaine strives to move around Merlin but the servant stands firm. “My lord, I—”

“Not now,” Arthur snaps, then briskly brushes past his uncle, Guinevere still in tow.

Merlin gives Agravaine a brief, slightly smug, look, then follows, proud of himself for not saying, “I told you so,” to the oily, power-hungry lord.

Agravaine is left gaping after them, disoriented and angry. His gape turns into a glower, and he turns on his heel and heads for the castle doors, hoping to find his Lady before the coronation.

In the privacy of Arthur’s chambers, Merlin takes the lead, encouraging Arthur to sit. He kneels to remove the prince’s boots, and notices Guinevere pouring some wine into a goblet for him. Food has been set out on the table, and she prepares a plate as well. She catches Merlin’s eye, and he gives her a small smile and nod.

“Please try to eat something, Arthur,” she says, her soft voice cutting into the silence.

“I’m not hungry,” he answers.

“You don’t want to collapse on the dais at your own coronation,” Merlin comments, earning him a glare.

“I have survived longer on less,” Arthur retorts.

“For me, then,” Guinevere tries, indulgently running her fingers through his hair. She notices it is dull and feels a bit grubby. She looks over at Merlin.

“I’ll call for a bath while he eats,” Merlin says, able to read his friend’s face. He notices Arthur is now absently eating his breakfast, but he can tell he isn’t really tasting anything.

“Thank you, Merlin,” she replies, still hovering over Arthur like a devoted wife. “You are very good to him, even if he doesn’t acknowledge it.”

Arthur makes a small sound of agreement, but he still seems miles away.

Merlin smiles, and goes to see about the bath, knowing his master is in capable hands.

xXx

The coronation takes place at noon, the bright sunlight streaming through the high windows, painting everyone in a golden glow.

Arthur appears serious and composed, his eyes clear and mouth set. The court will be talking for years to come about how poised their new young king was at his coronation.

Amid cheers of “Long live the king!”, Guinevere catches Merlin’s eye from their places in the back with the other servants, and she immediately knows that he is the only other person who sees what she sees.

Arthur is terrified.

Guinevere turns her attention back to her king, joining in on the cheering, and does not see the very small, knowing smile that crosses Merlin’s face.

xXx

The feast that night is crowded. Despite Arthur’s birthday feast having just been two days prior, the spread is lavish and the mood is festive. Everyone wants to take an opportunity to have a few words with their new young king.

Unfortunately, their new young king wants nothing more than to be left alone to figure out exactly how he’s going to rule a whole kingdom. Because he currently has no idea.

Uther prepared him as best he knew how. His parting words were words of support, intended to reassure his son that he was indeed ready to rule.

However, Uther also instilled a large dose of insecurity in his son. Arthur rarely felt that his actions were good enough. He wasn’t smart enough. He didn’t fight hard enough.

He just wasn’t _enough._

“More wine, my lord?” Guinevere’s voice is a welcome one, and he turns his head to look up at her.

He manages a true, if slightly sad, smile for her, and says, “No thank you.”

“I can bring you some water, if you’d prefer,” she suggests.

“Thank you, that would be very nice,” he replies.

She bobs a small curtsey and scurries away to fetch a different pitcher from the kitchens.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, not raising his voice. He knows he doesn’t need to.

“My lord?” Merlin asks, appearing at his side in an instant.

“I need to write something down,” he says.

Merlin’s brows furrow, but he nods. “Um, very well,” he says, then disappears.

As expected, he returns in a flash with a small piece of parchment, a quill, and a small pot of ink. “Is this enough?” he asks.

“Perfect,” Arthur says, taking the quill. He pauses briefly to speak to another sycophantic lord, then bends his head over the parchment.

Guinevere returns a few minutes later, apologies on her lips. “I am sorry it took so long. There was no clean water available so I had to get some from the well,” she explains, pouring the water into a fresh goblet she brought.

“You didn’t go all that way yourself,” he replies, picturing her lithe form hurrying through the courtyard, going above and beyond the call of duty (as usual), just to bring him water. While she is still close, he slips the note into her pocket.

A soft gasp escapes her lips as she realizes he’s given her something, but she maintains her composure. “No, the cook sent a page,” she answers, her voice remarkably even.

“Good,” he says. “Thank you, Guinevere.”

“You’re welcome, my lord.” She almost whispers the reply, then disappears before people begin gossiping.

Less than a minute later, another lord comes to extend his congratulations and make sure his face is seen. Arthur stifles his heavy sigh, wondering how much longer this feast will last.

Wondering if he can take Guinevere, escape out of a hidden door, and disappear into the night forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is very loosely based on Faust. I have never read it, but I know the basic gist. The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are from Faust.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “But you will never know another's heart, unless you are prepared to give yours too.”

“Is there anything else you need, my lord?” Merlin asks, staring hard at his master, who appears to be quite lost in thought.

“Hmm? No. Thank you, Merlin; that will be all,” Arthur answers, staring into the fire.

Merlin takes a hesitant step towards him. “You are understandably stressed, Sire. Surely there is something? Some hot mulled wine?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I could draw you a soothing bath.”

He shakes his head.

“Perhaps Gaius has—”

“ _Merlin._ ”

Merlin nods, pressing his lips together. “Very well.”

“All I require right now is silence and solitude,” Arthur says, not looking up from the fire.

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin dutifully replies. “Goodnight, Arthur,” he quietly adds, a gentle reminder that, while he is his servant, he is also his friend.

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur says. As Merlin reaches the doors, he says, “Thank you for trying.”

“Always, Sire,” Merlin answers, then disappears, closing the door behind him.

Arthur waits a few minutes, then gets up and opens the door just a crack. Then he returns to his seat by the fire.

Five minutes later, his head sharply turns towards the door. There was no sound, but he knows she is there. He stands and crosses to her, his bare feet just as silent on the cold stone floor. The only sound is the  _click_ of the door as she gently pushes it closed.

“Guinevere,” he says, no more than a breath, and pulls her into his arms.

“Arthur,” she replies, tenderly cradling his head against her shoulder, trying to absorb some of the stress, worry, and grief she still feels radiating off of him. The bag she had in her hand drops to the floor.

“Did anyone see you?” he asks, lifting his head. He releases her just enough to look down at her, his hands still loosely on her waist.

“No,” she answers, her brow furrowing. His note didn’t say anything about secrecy.

“No one? Gaius? Leon? Merlin?” he presses.

“No. The corridors I took were deserted,” she assures him. “You know the secret route I take to come here; you were the one who showed it to me. Why did you have me bring a change of clothes? Are we going somewhere?”

They are still standing near the doors, and he reaches out with one arm and decisively slides the lock in place.

“Oh,” she responds, suddenly understanding. Before she can say another word, he swoops down and kisses her. Deeply. Hungrily. Desperately.

“I need you, Guinevere,” he pulls away just enough to murmur against her lips.

“I know,” she whispers, gasping as he moves to kiss her neck.

“Do you?” he asks, still pressing hot, wet kisses to her skin. One hand goes wandering, sliding down her back and closing over her rear. He squeezes, but she still doesn’t protest or pull away.

“I do,” she confirms, his ardor making it difficult to think. She gently pulls back, looking up at him, needing to see his face. Everything she needs to know is in his eyes. She tenderly takes his hands in hers and guides them to the laces holding her corset closed in the front of her dress.

He tugs the ends of the ties. “I love you. So much,” he says, keeping his eyes on her. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replies, meeting his gaze, needy and full of want. “And I love you, Arthur.”

He groans and claims her lips once more, his fingers blindly working as he begins guiding her towards the bed.

“I will not force you,” he murmurs against her skin. “But I need you tonight. I want you.”

“I _know_ , Arthur,” she insists, her hands slipping under the hem of his white linen shirt just as she feels the side of his bed behind her knees. His skin is warm and feels much softer than she was expecting. His muscles jump under her touch and his fingers pause their actions to briefly dig into her sides.

He finishes unlacing her corset and tosses it aside, then places his hand over her breast, drawing a gasp from her. Thinking he might have gone too far too fast, he begins to pull his hand away, but then she arches her back, pressing her breast more firmly into his hand.

He groans, her boldness encouraging him. Her hands are dancing over his skin beneath his shirt, making it tingle, and he can no longer take it. He pulls away and hastily yanks the garment up over his head. It falls to the floor near her corset.

“Please touch me,” he says, a gentle order. “Your touch is everything.”

She complies, placing her palms on his chest and letting them rest there a moment before resuming their exploration. His eyes drift closed, and a few seconds later he catches her hands in his, then brings them to his lips.

He kisses her fingers and says, “I don’t want you to ever be hesitant or shy with me, Guinevere. I am yours, totally and completely.” Then he places her hands over his heart. “My heart beats for you alone.”

She lifts up on tiptoe and kisses him, then brings his hands to cover her heart. “You have been the keeper of my heart for longer than I can remember,” she replies. “It is yours and only yours.” Then, to erase any insecurities he may still have about the late Sir Lancelot, she adds, “It has  _always_ been yours.”

Her words bolster him, and all he can do is lean in and kiss her again, his hands roving over her body before finding a set of ties in the back of her dress.

With her assistance, she is down to her shift very quickly. He encourages her to sit on the bed, which Merlin had already turned down.

Arthur kneels before Guinevere and lifts one of her feet into his hands. He removes one shoe, then the other, and sets them aside. While she watches with interest, he begins lifting the hem of her shift, exposing her legs to him.

When her knees appear, he leans forward and kisses her left one. Then he moves the skirt a little higher until he finds the edges of her stockings.

He lifts up on his knees and places a kiss on the skin of her thigh, just above her stocking. His eyes drift closed and he lingers there, savoring the softness of her skin against his cheek and the scent of her arousal, so close. He begins removing her stocking, dropping more kisses on her skin as it becomes available.

Guinevere feels like she may already melt from his attentions, and struggles to stay seated upright. Her fingers dig into the mattress, groping for something with which to anchor herself, to keep her from floating off into the night.

Because that’s what this feels like.

One stocking is off, and Arthur surprises her by kissing her toes and the arch of her foot before moving to her other leg and giving it the same attention.

Once both legs are bare, he presses one more kiss to the inside of her leg, just above her knee, then stands in front of her. Her eyes are automatically drawn to the bulge straining at the front of his trousers.

“Lie back on the bed,” he softly says. She complies, then watches while he goes around the room, extinguishing most of the candles until they are left in the soft semi-darkness of just two bedside candles.

He joins her on the bed, stretching out beside her, leaning slightly over her. He reaches over and brushes a curl away from her face, kisses her once, then lifts his head to gaze down at her.

“Are you all right?” she asks after a moment.

He nods. “Just having you here with me is a balm on my heart,” he says. He brushes a soft kiss across her lips, then says, “But I’m afraid I’m a greedy man. I need more of you.”

“You may have all of me,” she replies, reaching over to touch his chest. She slides her hand down, over his stomach, to come to rest at the waist of his trousers. She finds the ties and pulls, loosening them.

He responds by kissing her again, deeply and passionately, reaching down to continue bunching the skirt of her shift – which she hadn’t straightened – higher.

His hand finds soft, warm skin, and he groans, his fingers curling into her pliant flesh. She whimpers in response, and when he moves to kiss her neck, she sighs.

Arthur moves further down, edging along the neckline of Guinevere’s shift, beginning to explore the lushness of her breasts. His hand finds its way there, cupping and gently pushing one up towards his lips. His thumb brushes over her nipple and she gasps.

“Off,” she breathes, squirming under him.

“Oh… I’m sorry… I…” he begins apologizing.

“Arthur,” she says with a smile. “I was talking about my shift, not you.”

“You’re certain?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers.

He kisses her, then moves away from her to shuck his trousers. She gets her shift out from beneath her, and he returns in time to help pull it up over her head. He tosses it aside and it floats to the floor like a wraith, pale in the dim candlelight.

“You are more beautiful than I could have ever imagined,” he says, boldly staring at her, his eyes tracking her form, memorizing her shape.

Guinevere had expected to feel a little embarrassed or bashful under such scrutiny, but she is surprised to discover she isn’t. Perhaps it is the adoration in his eyes that puts her at ease. Or the desire thrumming through her.

Arthur drops his head and kisses her once, quickly but deeply, before venturing lower, eager to explore. He earns another gasp when he draws a taut nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it. He sucks harder, tugging a little, and she moans, her hand coming up to thread into his hair.

He moves to pay similar attention to her other breast, and her other hand goes wandering over his body, touching every bit of him she can reach. His skin is warm and soft, and she finds she loves the feel of his battle-hardened muscles flexing under her hand.

When he leaves her breast and begins kissing down her belly, she makes a soft whimper of disappointment. But he is kissing her hipbone and then her thigh, and before she knows it, he’s hooked her legs over his shoulders.

“Arth—” The question she was about to ask never forms because his lips and tongue make contact with her hot, wet center and drive away any rational thought she may have had.

She whimpers, arching beneath him. He hums his appreciation, his tongue sliding easily through her folds, then circling where he knows she will get the most pleasure.

“Oh, gods…” she rasps, her hands once again grasping at the bedding before moving to her breasts. She kneads them and rubs her thumbs over her nipples, adding to the sensations Arthur is creating between her thighs.

He moves his hand, sliding a finger inside. She cries out, her hips bucking under him, but he holds her steady with his other hand, determined to bring her as much pleasure as he can.

She is so wet and pliant he is able to add a second finger. Then he bends them just so, recalling something he has heard the older knights boast about, while still working her over with his tongue.

A few moments later she explodes with a broken shout, and he can feel her walls pulsing around his fingers.

“Oh! Stop, stop!” she exclaims, trying in vain to close her legs. “Too much…” she exhales when he relents.

He kisses the inside of her thigh, then sucks her moisture off of his fingers before moving back up near her face.

“Guinevere,” he says, his voice very soft. “Will you touch me?”

“Show me how,” she responds, placing her hand in his. He kisses her, then guides her hand to his cock, curling her fingers around it. She marvels at the feel of him, at the thickness and how it is soft and hard at the same time.

She is also a very willing and apt pupil, drawing a groan from him in short order, and he needs to remove her hand much sooner than he would have liked.

“Your touch is all I want,” he says. “It soothes and enflames me at the same time.” Then he ardently kisses her once more and says, “I can wait no longer.” His voice is thick and hoarse with need.

She simply nods and moves to accommodate him as he shifts so he is between her legs once again. Only this time she feels the heavy length of him against her center.

“Bend your knees,” he says, reaching down and cupping his hand behind her knee and raising it up beside his hip. She does the same with the other, and a moment later she feels him at her entrance. “I am sorry for any pain.”

“It will only hurt this one time,” she replies. “I am ready.”

His eyes search hers for a few seconds, then he kisses her again. He moves his hips down and forward, swiftly breaking through her maidenhead. She squeaks but gives no other indication that she is suffering.

Arthur lifts his head.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Guinevere says in a breathy voice.

He kisses her lips once more and begins moving. She softly moans, her hands gripping his shoulders, and instinctively begins rocking her hips in time with his motions. His eyes roll back and close as he arches back a bit, still thrusting into her.

A moment later, he opens his eyes and looks down at her. “Guinevere,” he says, his voice little more than a broken gasp.

She opens her eyes and meets his gaze. The intensity she sees there frightens her a little, but it excites her a lot.

“I… love you so much,” he says. Words come spilling out in hoarse, broken phrases. “More than I… can say. You are… everything to me… All…” he pauses his words and his hips for a moment, as though he is trying to regain control of himself.

“Yes, Arthur,” she whispers, assuring him she is all right.

He begins moving again. “All that I have… all that I  _am…_ it is yours. My heart… my soul… my… entire being… is yours,” he rasps.

“Oh, Arthur,” she replies, tugging on his shoulders to pull his lips back down to hers.

A second later he drives in hard and deep, stilling within her. She can feel his whole body tense and still except for the part of him sheathed within her, which she can feel pulsing with his release as he floods into her.

He carefully collapses over her, tucking his face into her neck.

“I love you, too, Arthur,” she says, running her fingers up and down his back.

After a short time, he carefully rolls off of her but pulls her with him, keeping her close at his side. He brushes her hair away from her face, indulgently running his fingers through it. She had it mostly down today, but their activities had dislodged the pins that were holding some of it back.

He turns his head and kisses her forehead. “Will you marry me?” he asks, his lips brushing her skin. “I cannot be king without my queen at my side.”

“Yes, Arthur, I will,” she replies. She doesn’t hesitate in her answer, but secretly wonders at his timing. _Had he planned on asking me tonight all along, or did he decide to ask because he just took my virginity?_ She tilts her face up and kisses him, her fingers trailing along his jawline.

“Oh!” he exclaims and pulls away, turning over to reach into a drawer in his bedside table. “I nearly forgot.” He turns towards her with something in his hand. She sits up as well, tucking the sheet around her. “This was my mother’s,” he says, sliding the ring onto her finger. “I had a new one made for you, but then I found this in my father’s rooms, and thought you might prefer it.”

She smiles. “I do, thank you,” she confirms, pleased he knows she would value sentiment and meaning over finery.

“I didn’t simply propose because I… we did… this,” he says, addressing her earlier unspoken thought. “I had always intended to marry you as soon as I possibly could.”

“How long ago did you buy that other ring?” she asks, looking up from the one currently on her finger.

“I bought it shortly after I promised you things would be different when I am king,” he says.

“That was over a year ago!” she exclaims.

“I keep my promises,” he insists, then leans forward to kiss her again.

xXx

“I meant everything I said. It wasn’t the passion speaking. It was from my heart,” Arthur says some time later, in the safety of the dark. Guinevere is curled in front of him, her back to him with her hair now braided. 

“I know,” she answers.

He tightens his arm around her. “ I think the, um, passion is what finally made me able to speak what has been in my heart for years now. What I feel for you… it’s so…” he sighs. “Sometimes I feel as though it might consume me, it is so strong. But at the same time, if it did, I would gladly let it do so.”

She is quiet for a moment. “I understand,” she replies.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I feel the same way.”

He kisses the crown of her head. “I am utterly and completely yours now, you know,” he says. “You own me.”

She chuckles. “No one can own another person, Arthur,” she says.

“Even so,” he counters. “I am still yours.”

She turns around and kisses him. “I know,” she replies. “And I am yours.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The deed is everything, the glory nothing.”

Merlin walks to the royal chambers the next morning to wake Arthur, just like he does every day. Only today, he finds the doors locked. Frowning, he softly knocks. “Arthur?” he calls, still quietly.

He knocks again, listening, firmly telling himself  _not_ to use his magic to unlock the door. He’s sure Arthur had a reason to lock himself in, but he can’t imagine what it could be. Not to mention having to explain himself if he is caught.

Just as he raises his hand to knock once more, he hears the scrape of the lock and the doors open a crack.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Arthur asks. He looks tired. His hair is sticking up and he is holding his trousers up with one hand since they aren’t tied.

“I was coming to wake you up, like I always do,” Merlin answers. “Why did you have the doors locked?” He cranes his neck, trying to see in.

“That’s none of your concern,” Arthur answers. “I do not wish to be disturbed this morning.”

“But—”

“Arthur?” A sleepy but familiar feminine voice steals Merlin’s words of protest.

Arthur turns away, attempting to close the door a bit, but Merlin doesn’t miss the wince that crossed his face. “I’m here,” he calls back. “I’ll be right back.”

“All right.”

“Arthur,” Merlin sternly says.

Arthur’s expression is carefully stony now. “ Not a word. That is an order,” he says, his tone indicating that the topic is not up for discussion.

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin answers. “You know you can trust me.”

“Good,” Arthur replies. “Come back later. I’m exhausted.”

_I wonder why?_ Merlin has enough sense not to speak his thought. “Of course,” he answers. “Sir Leon should run training this morning then?”

That gives the king pause, since leading the knights’ training is one of his points of pride, but then he simply nods and closes the door.

Merlin goes off to find Sir Leon before seeing if Gaius needs him for anything. While he is relieved that if Arthur had sought solace in the arms of any woman last night, it was Gwen, but he’s unable to help being a bit disappointed in his king. He thought Arthur would be more honorable than this; he had always insisted he would not take Guinevere as his mistress. They are not even betrothed, and somehow he convinced her to share his bed.

He is surprised to find he does not feel any disappointment in Gwen’s actions, however. He stops walking, realizing that Gwen wouldn’t have done anything she did not want to do.  _Arthur would not have pressured her. But she would not lay with him on a whim._

_I am missing a key piece of the puzzle here._

“Hmm,” he says, frowning, then continues on his quest to find Sir Leon.

xXx

“But sire, you… can’t,” Lord Roldan speaks up after King Arthur makes his declaration to the Council later that afternoon. Arthur raises a questioning eyebrow at the lord. “It just… isn’t done.”

“Can anyone give me a _good_ reason why I cannot marry Guinevere?” he asks, looking around the table.

“It’s not that you cannot, sire, it’s that you… should not?” Lord Agravaine says, his statement turning into a question at the end, largely due to the icy stare from his nephew. His same nephew who turned out to be made of much stronger stuff than he had hoped, and he suspects a large part of his strength comes from the woman under discussion. He frowns. “She is a common chamber maid, Arthur,” he says, his courage rallying. “What will the other kingdoms think?”

“They will likely be jealous that I was bold enough to marry for love instead of political gain,” Arthur retorts. “And what, pray, is so bad about being a commoner? I’ve met many commoners with more inherent nobility that some of the men seated at this table.”

There is much grumbling and clearing of throats and glaring. A few chuckles as well. Arthur holds up his hands, and the noise quiets.

“Let me be absolutely clear about this: I will not be walking the same path as my father. His style of ruling bordered on tyranny at times, and I do not have that particular brand of ruthlessness within me. However, he did teach me one thing: If I do not have your agreement or approval on something, I can go ahead and do it anyway, because I am the king,” he says, looking at each council member in turn, finishing with Agravaine. “I _will_ be marrying Guinevere. Lady Guinevere, in fact. Her brother has been a knight for some time now. If I can knight commoners, I can make a worthy serving girl a Lady. And marry her.”

“My lord, I…” Lord Edgar bravely begins. He falters briefly under the king’s challenging stare, then regroups. “I think marrying a commoner is a very good idea. Shrewd, even. The people will support their new queen because she is one of them.”

There are murmurs of agreement around the table, but a few people are markedly stoic. Agravaine seems to be making a concerted effort to appear to agree, which is all the more reason to suspect him. Merlin, standing on the fringes of the meeting as always, takes note of this. He hopes Arthur does too.

“Quite,” Arthur tersely replies. He had thought of that possible outcome, but he truthfully doesn’t really care. All he knows is he needs Guinevere at his side. The previous night did nothing but cement that knowledge.

xXx

Knowing that time is of the essence, Arthur and Guinevere marry the following week. The last thing Arthur wanted was for anyone to look askance at his Guinevere or have a reason to question the paternity of the baby she  _might_ be carrying from their night together.

Of course it is possible that she is not with child, but they agreed it was better to err on the side of caution.

To the surprise of the council members who opposed their union, the wedding was well-attended and without incident. Visiting rulers attended and appeared to bear the young king’s new bride no ill will. In fact, Queen Annis was quite charmed by Guinevere, and the two spent a great deal of time talking together during the Queen’s visit.

Merlin put on a cheerful face throughout the festivities, endeavoring to be as helpful and efficient as possible. However, underneath it all, he was troubled. There was something not settling right with him about Arthur marrying Gwen, but he was unable to identify it.

_They are my two closest friends. No one is better for Arthur than Gwen. No one would be a better queen than Gwen. She was my first friend here and I love her like a sister; of course she deserves happiness. So does Arthur. He’s a clotpole, but I love him like a brother._

_I’ve been protecting him for all these years, saving his royal backside time and again, to make certain he lived to be king. A great king with a great queen at his side._

“Merlin, are you all right?” Gaius asks.

_So why do I feel unhappy about this?_

_No. Not unhappy. Uneasy._

“Merlin!” Gaius repeats, louder. He places a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder, and the young man jumps.

“Oh! Sorry. Lost in thought,” Merlin feebly explains.

“I can see that. If you stir that ointment any longer it’ll separate,” he says, removing the pot from Merlin’s hands.

“Sorry,” Merlin repeats.

“What is troubling you?” Gaius asks.

“I’m not sure,” he answers. “Maybe I’m just tired. Exhausted, really.” That is the truth. He is exhausted.

“You have been running yourself ragged to make sure Arthur and Gwen’s wedding was perfect. It was,” Gaius assures him. “Why don’t you go up to bed?”

Merlin simply nods. “Thank you, Gaius,” he says, turning towards his room.

Later, Merlin creeps out again, walking silently across the physician’s room, accompanied by the sound of an old man’s snores.

xXx

“Why have you summoned me, young warlock?” Kilgarrah seems annoyed, and rightly so. The old dragon knew he would never have a moment’s peace again once Merlin learned he was a dragonlord.

“I am troubled,” Merlin says. “I should be happy about Arthur and Gwen getting married, but it makes me uneasy.”

“This is why you called me away from my slumber?” the dragon disdainfully says, lifting his head in order to look down his nose at him.

Merlin sighs, exasperated. “I feel like it’s somehow important,” he says. “And was hoping you might have some insight.”

“Why do you come to me? You never heed my words, though you know I—”

“Yes, I know. You don’t need to keep reminding me,” Merlin interjects.

“Gwen has replaced you,” Kilgarrah simply says.

“What? No. Arthur and I have never been… you know. _That_ way,” Merlin says, making a face.

“I did not mean it in that regard,” the dragon explains. “You are no longer the king’s primary confidante.” Merlin nods, looking down. “You know your purpose. You must find a way to make yourself indispensable.”

“You keep telling me that, and I have done everything under the sun, moon, and stars to make sure I am always needed,” Merlin exclaims. “I am out of ideas!”

“An opportunity will present itself soon,” Kilgarrah says. “It will soon be time for you to reveal your secret to our young king.”

Merlin’s eyes widen. “What?”

The dragon solemnly nods. “He must be told.”

“I know,” Merlin whispers. “I just don’t know how.”

“Soon,” Kilgarrah repeats. “Your opportunity will come soon.”

Merlin pauses, thinking a minute. There are only two things that would push him to tell Arthur about his magic. One is if he had to use it to save Gwen. The other…

“Morgana,” Merlin guesses. “She is up to something.”

Kilgarrah nods again. “I can feel the witch’s anger. She knows about the wedding and is not happy about it at all. She feels Guinevere is sitting on  _her_ throne and will do whatever she can to remove her from it.”

“She’s going to try to kill Gwen?” Merlin stupidly exclaims.

“Perhaps. Perhaps worse,” the dragon answers.

“Worse? How… never mind; I don’t want to know,” Merlin replies.

“I must go now, young warlock,” Kilgarrah says, standing. “Remember your duty.”

“I do,” Merlin replies. “I’ll keep my eyes open for that opportunity.”

“You won’t need to look very hard, I fear,” the Great Dragon retorts, unfurling his wings. A moment later, he launches himself into the sky.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you then?"   
> “I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good.”

Urgent knocking interrupts Arthur and Guinevere’s breakfast a week and a half later.

Arthur nods, and Merlin goes to open the door. A frantic-looking Gaius appears a moment later.

“Sire, forgive me for interrupting your breakfast, but this cannot wait,” he says.

“Of course, Gaius,” Arthur replies, setting his goblet down. “What is troubling you?”

“There have been five deaths in the lower town since yesterday, Arthur. All children. Very young children,” Gaius answers. Guinevere gasps, setting her fork down. “Three times that many are very sick. And I heard from one of the midwives that,” he pauses, his eyes briefly flitting to Guinevere, “two women have lost their unborn babies.”

Guinevere puts her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide as she looks to her husband.

“Merlin, have Sir Leon check the water suppl—”

“It’s not the water,” Gaius answers. “Or the food. We’ve checked everything.”

“What is it then?” Arthur asks. He places his napkin on his plate. “Plague?” he carefully suggests.

“I do not believe so, Sire. All of the deceased were in good health until recently.” Gaius wrings his hands and says, “To be completely honest, Arthur, the only thing that makes any sense is that magic is involved.”

“Morgana,” Arthur mutters, and Gaius nods.

“She will not be happy about our wedding,” Guinevere says.

“Why punish the children though?” Arthur asks. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does if Gwen is with child,” Merlin says.

“What?” Arthur and Guinevere say together.

Gaius is nodding. “Yes, yes, I see… She would naturally be concerned about an heir. An heir that would push her yet another step further from the throne,” he says.

“So she has unleashed her _own_ sort of plague. One that only affects very young children. Including ones that have not yet been born,” Merlin finishes.

“That’s…” Guinevere says, trailing off to shake her head in disbelief. “I cannot even come up with a word that fully captures the… depravity of her actions.”

“Disgusting,” Arthur suggests.

“Deplorable,” Gaius adds.

“Cowardly,” Merlin finishes.

There is a brief silence while each person ponders this new problem.

“What can we do?” Guinevere asks, looking at Arthur, then Gaius.

“I am doing everything I can, my lady,” Gaius answers. “But if this is indeed a magical affliction, my options are limited and I may not be successful.”

There is another urgent knock on the doors, and Merlin hurries over to open them.

“Sire, I… Oh, Gaius, here you are!” a harried-looking Sir Leon exclaims. “The courtyard is beginning to get crowded with families and their sick children,” he says.

“I had better get back out there,” Gaius says. “I will send word back as soon as I know anything. Merlin, I could really use your help.”

“I’ll help, too,” Guinevere volunteers, standing.

Gaius briefly considers refusing her help now that she is queen, but he can really use her capable hands. “Thank you, my lady,” he says.

Arthur stands and kisses her. “Look after yourself,” he says. “If you begin to feel unwell in any way…”

“Yes, Arthur. I promise,” she says.

Gaius, Merlin, and Guinevere hurry from the room, leaving Arthur alone.

He drops into his chair, then places his head in his hands.

“Sire?”

Arthur lifts his head. He had forgotten about Sir Leon. “Yes?” he asks.

“Should we cancel training this morning, in light of the developments?” he asks.

Arthur sighs. “Yes. Send the men out to patrol the town. We need to be visible right now. Instruct them to bring any of the ill to the castle for treatment.”

“Yes, Sire,” Leon replies. He gives him a slight bow, then disappears.

xXx

Merlin returns an hour later. Guinevere and Gaius are still tending the sick, but Merlin was able to slip away after a brief word with Gaius.

“What news, Merlin?” Arthur asks. He is sitting at his desk, staring at a report he is supposed to be reading. He’s been staring at it for most of the hour he has been alone.

“Three more children have died, and one more woman has lost her unborn child,” Merlin says.

“Any headway?”

“Not… as such.”

Arthur pushes his chair away from the desk and leans back, staring at the ceiling. “This is not the news I was hoping to hear,” he says.

“I know,” Merlin replies. “And I’m afraid I have more bad news. Well, you’ll think it’s bad, but it really isn’t. It could be the best news you’ll ever hear, if you would listen with an open mind.”

Arthur looks at Merlin. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I can stop Morgana’s plague,” Merlin says.

Arthur leaps to his feet, angry. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Why didn’t you say that this _morning_?” he yells. “You let three – _four_ – more innocent lives end when you could have stopped it? What possible reason can you give me that will excuse your—”

“I can only stop her by using magic!” Merlin yells back, cutting off the king’s tirade. “I have magic, Arthur! I’ve always have! I can stop her – I’m the _only_ person who can stop her – because I am more powerful than she is!”

Arthur stares at him, mouth still open. It closes with a dull _click_ and he turns away, stalking across the room. “You have magic,” he mutters. “You. Have _magic_.” He spins back around and glares at Merlin. “This is a fine time to make jokes, Merlin.”

Merlin holds Arthur’s gaze, allowing the king to see his eyes flash gold as every candle in the room ignites.

“Get out,” Arthur says, turning around.

“Arthur…”

“Out. I will send for you when I have my decision.”

xXx

Arthur stands at the window, staring out at the courtyard, which is now filled with people. He squeezes his eyes closed, unable to bear the sight of a sheet being drawn over the face of a little girl with tawny skin and dark curly hair. She looks too much like a tiny Guinevere.

Or a daughter they may one day have together.

He goes to the doors and tells the guard posted outside to send for Merlin, hoping he’s doing the right thing.

He cannot let these innocent children continue to perish. Not when a solution is available. Even if the solution is illegal.

Merlin returns much quicker than Arthur would have thought. He enters without knocking.

“Magic is illegal,” Arthur says, looking out of the window again, unconsciously tracking Guinevere’s movements in the courtyard. “The punishment is death.”

“I know,” Merlin replies. At this point, he’s not sure Arthur would be able to kill him even if he tried, but he keeps this information to himself. “That’s why I’ve been hiding it all these years.”

“Do you have any idea how _betrayed_ I feel right now?” Arthur asks, still not looking at him. He watches Guinevere bending down to give some water to a toddler, and his heart briefly clenches with the strange hope that she is _not_ with child.

“I do,” Merlin answers. “I also know that there is nothing I can say that will help how you feel right now. Anything I say will sound like an excuse, and you are not in the right frame of mind to hear it anyway.”

Arthur curses under his breath. He wheels around. “See? How is it you know me so well yet I suddenly feel like I am talking to a stranger? What other secrets do you have? How do I know you’re not working  _with_ Morgana against me?”

Merlin’s expression turns stormy. “How dare you? How  _dare_ you accuse me of working with that murderous witch after everything I have done for you?” He stalks towards Arthur, who actually looks a little nervous. “I have saved your neck countless times… risked my life for you… almost gotten myself killed on numerous occasions! Have I been using magic? Yes, I have! But I always used it to  _help_ you, Arthur! Always! My whole purpose in life is to see to it that you become the greatest king these lands have every seen, and you question my  _loyalty?_ ” He is yelling by the end of his speech, and standing very close to Arthur. “You have no idea how many times I could have done nothing, not used my magic, and just let you die,” he says, his voice low, almost menacing. “My life would certainly be a lot easier if I had.”

“Why did you then?” Arthur quietly asks, genuinely curious.

“It is my destiny to protect you, just as it is yours to be a great king,” Merlin simply answers as he dissolves back into his normal, affable demeanor. “I do what I must for the good of the kingdom. And for you.” He reaches out and places his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and, to the king’s credit, he doesn’t flinch. “Magic is merely a tool, Arthur. It can be used for evil, true, but it can also be used for good. If you want to stop Morgana’s plague, I must use magic. You can only fight magic with magic.”

Arthur heaves a deep sigh and looks down. A moment later, he looks up again. “ What do you want from me, Merlin?” he asks, suddenly feeling more helpless then he ever has.

“Let me deal with Morgana for you. Once she is no longer a threat, you will lift the ban on magic,” Merlin answers, dropping his hand.

“Is that a wise idea?”

“With Morgana out of the way, there is no reason to continue the ban,” Merlin answers. “Also, you will make me your personal advisor and court sorcerer. I will see to it that magic is not abused in Camelot. As well as continue to protect you. But you must listen to me and trust me.”

Arthur ponders this for a long moment. “You are certain you can stop Morgana?”

“Yes,” Merlin answers.

“And if you fail? What then?” Arthur asks.

“I won’t,” Merlin assures him.

“Humor me. I need… I need to feel like I have a plan here, Merlin. Everything is spinning out of control, and I need a fully-formed plan that covers all circumstances. I… I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what I’m doing at all! How can I be king if I can’t keep my kingdom safe?” Arthur says, finally allowing Merlin to see the desperation he knows has been lurking beneath the surface the whole time.

Merlin feels the sting of pity for his master and friend. He allows himself a moment of sympathy, keeping well in mind that it is a means to an end. “If I fail, I will leave Camelot and never return,” he says.

Arthur angles his head at him. “I won’t execute you,” he says. “But I could lock you in the dungeons for breaking the law.”

Merlin’s lips twitch as he stops himself from laughing in the king’s face. “No, you couldn’t,” he replies.

“I am not so softhearted that—”

“Arthur. I didn’t say you _wouldn’t_. I said you _couldn’t_. Do you really think mere lock and key would be able to contain me?” he interrupts, pointing to the chest at the foot of Arthur’s bed. The only person with a key to this chest is Arthur. Merlin flicks his hand, his eyes flash, and the lock springs open.

“So exile it is then,” Arthur concedes.

“I will not fail, so it is not truly an option,” Merlin reassures.

Arthur stares at him a moment longer. “You’re really more powerful than she is?” he asks, looking a little wary.

“It is possible – probable – that I am the most powerful wizard in the land,” Merlin says after a beat. He still isn’t certain about exactly how many of his secrets he will or should reveal, but he supposes this one is safe enough, being that it is somewhat vague and subjective in nature. “Morgana is no match for me.”

The seriousness of his tone sends a chill down Arthur’s spine. He decides to take him at his word. All he has right now is hope. “Go then. Put a stop to this heartbreak,” he says, wondering if he’s just condemned his best friend, despite his assurances.

Merlin turns to leave, but pauses just inside the doors. “Do you want her dead or merely incapacitated?” he asks, still facing away from Arthur.

Arthur blinks in surprise, unaccustomed to this dark, serious side of his usually-cheerful manservant. “Dead,” he answers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What I possess, seems far away to me, and what is gone becomes reality.”

After a brief stop in his room, Merlin finds Gaius and tells him he is off to dispatch Morgana, with Arthur’s blessing. Gaius looks surprised and concerned, but is really too busy to ask questions.

Merlin waves at Gwen and hurries to the stables to get a horse. He would walk, but time is of the essence and he really doesn’t feel like being stealthy today. _Let her know I’m coming. She doesn’t know I’m a threat._

Riding swiftly into the forest, he first heads for the great stone into which he plunged the sword after using it to defeat Morgause’s undead army last year. He knows it is the only thing that will kill Morgana, and while he isn’t as skilled with the weapon as Arthur is, he is confident that it will get the job done. He climbs to the top of the large boulder, focuses his magic on it, and pulls it free.

He sheathes the sword, mounts his horse, and continues on to Morgana’s home.

He finds the hidden dwelling with ease, and is not entirely surprised to see another horse tied nearby. He assumes the animal was concealed at some point, but he has wandered out into a more open area in order to nibble on some tall grass.

He immediately notices the horse is from Camelot, and he has a strong suspicion about the identity of its owner.

Merlin returns his attention to his task, pushing all other thoughts to the side for the moment. He clears his mind, focuses his energy, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them, they are gold. The door to Morgana’s lair explodes, shattering into splinters. There is a short but rather satisfying shriek from inside.

Merlin stands, feet planted, about five yards in front of her door, sword in hand, waiting. The first thing he hears is a familiar voice.

“Morgana, wait!”

_Agravaine._ Merlin’s suspicions are confirmed, but he doesn’t have time to ponder them, as Morgana has come flying out of the hovel, hands raised, ready to spit fire.

Merlin is ready for her. He immediately blasts her backwards, and she hurtles backward into Agravaine, knocking them both down.

“You!” she gasps, once she is on her feet again. “You… you have magic?” she sputters in disbelief.

Merlin simply nods, then flicks his hand, shoving Agravaine back once more, into Morgana’s home. There is much crashing and cursing from within, but Merlin has no time to enjoy it.

He raises the sword in front of him, the tip pointed at Morgana. “Stop this plague you have unleashed on Camelot,” he orders.

As he expected, she laughs, both at his command and at the fact that he is threatening her with a sword.

“Fool,” she spits. “I am a high priestess. Your measley sword cannot harm me.” She raises a hand, intending to blast him backwards the same way he did to her.

However, he is ready for her and deflects the blow with a wave of his free hand. A young tree nearby catches the blow instead. It shudders violently and a startled bird flies out of it, squawking noisily.

Morgana stares in shock for a second. “ Emrys,” she whispers, but has no opportunity to say or do anything more, because Merlin quickly moves forward, plunging the sword into her gut.

“This blade was burnished and blessed by the fire of the Great Dragon,” he says, his voice low, a deadly whisper. Morgana can only gasp and gurgle in response.

There is motion in his periphery, and he notices Agravaine attempting to make a getaway. Merlin makes a quick gesture with his chin and carelessly slams him into a nearby tree.

The tree has a thick, low, broken branch sticking out if it. It impales the traitor and he slumps, pinned to the tree.

“It is an unbeatable blade. It can kill that which is already dead. It can kill high priestesses, too,” Merlin growls, his free arm coming around to support Morgana as the life drains out of her. “I asked Arthur if he wanted you left alive and powerless or killed,” he adds. “Guess which option he took?”

Morgana hacks a wet cough, blood bubbling from her lips.  “ Tell… Arthur… he can…”

“No,” Merlin says, jerking the sword upwards, then pushing her away. She falls to the ground. He stands over her, sword glistening with her blood. “Your time of terror ends now.”

Morgana manages to open her eyes to glare at Merlin.

The last thing she sees is his determined face as the sword descends, heading straight for her neck.

xXx

Merlin guides his horse through the forest, heading back to Camelot. He couldn’t just leave Agravaine’s horse there, so he has it tethered to his, which means he has to travel more slowly.

As he rides, he thinks about Morgana and comes to the conclusion that Arthur was correct to want her dead.

Merlin really did not want to kill Morgana. He wanted to be able to save her. To have someone as powerful as her as an ally would have been helpful indeed.

Even so, he is tired. Tired of fighting with her, tired of dealing with her tantrums, tired of avoiding her.

Tired of hiding who he is.

“She was beyond redemption,” he says aloud, basically talking to his horse. “I had no choice.” Even as he says the words, he knows they are false. He made himself believe he didn’t have a choice because Arthur said he wanted her dead.

The lower town is within sight. “I had a choice,” he sighs. “And I chose to kill her.”

He’s not happy about it, but he is satisfied with the conclusion. Had he left her alive, she never would have become an ally or friend. She would have resented him, and likely have worked tirelessly to try to regain her magic.

She still would have tried to usurp the crown from her half-brother, with or without magic.

He knows he made the correct choice, but took no pleasure in the act.

When Merlin reaches the castle, the townspeople are making their way out of the courtyard. Many children are walking on their own, but most are being carried, their tired little bodies worn out from their ordeal. Here and there an expectant mother is making her way through the crowd, some weeping with relief.

Merlin returns the horses, then takes his bag and sword and heads straight for the royal chambers to wait for Arthur.

He knows Arthur is in the great hall – he always knows exactly where Arthur is – but he will not interrupt him. This is a private matter.

He also knows he will not have to wait long. He enters the room, sets his things down, and begins puttering around, tending to his duties as manservant just to kill time.

Ten minutes later, Arthur walks in, alone. Merlin turns, happy to see that Gwen is not with him. He loves Gwen, but he really doesn’t want her here for this. He isn’t certain why, but can simply feel in his gut that she should not be here.

“Close the door,” Merlin says.

Arthur stares at him for a moment, but then complies, shutting the door. “Where did you get that sword?” he asks, looking at the weapon on the table. He picks it up. “It’s magnificent. The balance is perfect. It is truly like an extension of my own arm.” He begins absently going through basic sword forms with it.

“It is meant to be yours, Arthur,” Merlin says. “It was made specifically for you, and has been waiting until the right time for you to claim it.”

Arthur lowers his arm and looks at Merlin. “Why do I feel there is a ‘but’ coming?” he asks.

“Because there is,” Merlin says, stepping towards him. He gently eases the sword out of Arthur’s hand, quite surprised when he yields without argument. Merlin sets it back on the table.

“I assume you were successful, since the children recovered,” Arthur says.

“Yet you still require proof,” Merlin guesses. Arthur gives a half shrug, not disagreeing. “Look in that bag.” He points to the large satchel on the floor.

Arthur eyes it suspiciously a moment, then crouches down and flips the flap open. He makes a small noise of disgusted surprise and closes it again. “That’s a head,” he dumbly says.

“I think you’ll find there are two heads in there,” Merlin replies.

Arthur looks again. He easily recognizes the face on the second head. “What the…?”

“He was in league with Morgana,” Merlin informs. “He was with her when I went to her lair.”

Stunned, Arthur says nothing, merely gaping. He drops into a chair a moment later.

“In truth, I have been suspicious of him since he arrived. I never thought he truly had your best interests in mind,” Merlin says.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Arthur asks.

“Would you have believed me?” Merlin returns.

“No,” Arthur admits after a moment. “Guinevere told me he made her feel uncomfortable, but I merely attributed that to the fact that he is – was – a bit of a letch and made sure she was never alone with him.”

“He was a letch. He was also a traitor. And now he is dead,” Merlin says.

“You killed them both with this sword?” Arthur asks, pointing at the weapon on the table.

“I killed Morgana with the sword. Agravaine was impaled on a tree branch when I flung him out of the way,” Merlin answers.

Arthur ponders that information for about fifteen seconds before saying, “Tell me.”

Merlin recounts the events to him, only leaving out the part about the dragon having blessed the sword. He hasn’t yet made up his mind about what to tell Arthur about Kilgarrah. Arthur thinks the dragon is dead.

“It was over very quickly,” he concludes. “They deserved to suffer more, but I knew time was of the essence because of the children.”

Arthur isn’t sure what to make of this new Merlin. He is no longer the cheerful, bumbling servant. He’s a confident, strong, slightly frightening man. Suddenly he is very aware of the fact that this man standing before him could very likely, very easily kill him, too.

“So what now?” Arthur asks.

“I kept my part of our agreement,” Merlin says, pointing at the bag. “Now you must keep yours.”

Arthur stands, facing him. “Name your terms,” he says. He remembers them, but something is prompting him to make this arrangement feel more official.

Merlin understands this, and says, “You will lift the ban on magic. You will make me a lord, Court Sorcerer, and your personal advisor. I will also see to it that magic will not be used for evil, as long as you consult with me on all matters concerning magic and its use in Camelot. You must trust me unconditionally when it comes to issues dealing with magic.”

Arthur’s lips purse, Merlin’s demand for trust rankling something inside of him. “I must _trust_ you?” he says. “You, who have been lying to my face for years?”

Merlin holds his ground. He had been wondering when the anger was going to surface again. “You know why I had to,” he says. “Your father would have had me executed immediately.” When Arthur opens his mouth to argue, Merlin cuts him off before he begins. “You saw what he did to Gwen’s father, and that was just for being  _suspected of consorting_ with sorcerers.” He knows bringing up this topic is a low blow, but it is necessary.

“I wouldn’t have let him execute you,” Arthur says, but Merlin can tell that even he doesn’t believe his own words. He didn’t stop Uther from executing Tom. And he couldn’t stop Uther from executing Gwen; the only reason he didn’t execute her was because Merlin took the blame and foiled Morgana’s scheme.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and says, “Uther did whatever he wanted. If he wanted me dead, I would be dead.” Then he pauses. “Maybe.”

This throws Arthur. “Maybe?” he asks.

“I’d be gone, anyway. As I said, no dungeon can hold me. I would have escaped and gone home to my mother. Or not,” Merlin answers, shrugging as though the subject of his death was no big deal. “I may have wandered. Seen some of the world. I might have taken up with some Druids, who knows? In any case, we both know you would not have been able to change your father’s mind.”

Arthur sighs and turns away, heading back to look outside. “That may be so, but I still feel betrayed. I… consider you a friend, Merlin. And while I understand your reasons for keeping this from me, it doesn’t erase the feeling of betrayal.”

“I _am_ your friend, Arthur. I always have been and always will be,” Merlin says. “And I know what a rare thing a true friend is to someone in your position. I would never abuse that. And that is why I made this proposal.” He takes a few steps closer to him. “We had a deal. I was to kill Morgana, and I did. As a man of honor, you must uphold your end of the bargain.” He lifts the sword from the table with his left hand and rests the flat of the blade on the Arthur’s shoulder. “T his sword will be yours. But only if you if you agree to the terms.”

Arthur turns around, looking at the beautiful sword. He does want it. He feels drawn to it somehow, like it was indeed intended for him and only him.

Merlin extends his right hand. “What say you: yes or no?”

Arthur looks at Merlin. He looks at the bag of heads. He looks at the sword. He looks at Merlin’s hand. Then he looks at Merlin again.

“Yes,” Arthur says, placing his hand in Merlin’s, and the two men shake hands. His heart is racing and he feels a sense of exhilaration he can’t quite understand, so he chalks it up to the swirl of emotions running through him from the events of today and the knowledge that he’s just agree to repeal his father’s most important law.

Merlin picks up the sword and presses his thumb against the blade, making a small cut. He then passes the sword to Arthur, giving him a pointed look. He stares at the sword for just a moment, then presses his own thumb to the edge, just as Merlin had.

Merlin holds his bleeding thumb up and Arthur presses his against it. Merlin closes his other hand around them and whispers a few words in a tongue Arthur doesn’t understand.

“Now I am bound to you, and you are bound to me,” Merlin says, removing his hand and pulling his thumb away.

Arthur looks at his thumb. The cut is healed, but there is a very small scar there.

“What of Guinevere?” he asks, looking up.

“What of her?” Merlin casually replies. “Of course she needs to know. She is your wife and your queen, and you should have no secrets.” After a moment, he adds, “I have no more secrets from her than I do from you,” shrugging lightly as he speaks.

xXx

“I think it is the right thing to do,” Guinevere says after a minute’s contemplation. “Mmm, that feels good,” she purrs, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the headboard.

Arthur continues rubbing her foot, small and slender in his large hands, pressing his thumb into her arch and massaging her tired muscles. She spent the bulk of the day running around assisting Gaius in tending the sick children, and returned to their chambers at dinner time, tired but fulfilled with the work she had done.

After they ate, she flopped on the bed. Arthur perched at the end, lifted her feet into his lap, and told her about Merlin.

“You surprise me, my love,” he says.

“Well, your overturning your father’s law surprises me as well,” she replies. “But I understand why. Morgana is dead. And if what Merlin says about the extent of his power is indeed true, I don’t think we have any reason for worry. It is time to move forward as a kingdom, and this is a good step in that direction.”

Arthur nods, moving his hands up her legs to massage her calves. “You didn’t seem terribly surprised about Merlin though,” he observes.

“I was and I wasn’t,” she replies. “It answers a lot of questions about him actually. His odd behavior sometimes. The way he always seems to know what we need before we’ve asked. Why he seems to disappear at odd times with feeble or no explanations. I suppose it is good to know that these things are because he’s been having to hide the fact that he is a wizard and not because he’s just…”

“Strange,” Arthur supplies.

“I was going to say ‘eccentric’,” she says, laughing. “Show me this amazing sword.”

He arches an eyebrow at her and she laughs more, but he goes to retrieve the weapon. He passes it to her and she gasps.

“My father made this sword,” she whispers.

“He did? Merlin said it was made specially for me,” Arthur replies.

“He came to me… years ago. When my father was still alive,” she explains, her voice still hushed as her long fingers run over the lines of the sword. “He asked for the finest sword my father ever forged. I knew of one he had made, but was saving for just the right customer. I snuck it out of its hiding place and gave it to Merlin. For you. I did it for you.” Arthur gives her a fond smile, and she continues. “But...” she furrows her brow, “I think your father wound up using it. It was in that tournament… the one with the black knight that couldn’t be killed. He used that sword to kill him.”

“Merlin must have done something to it. The sword,” Arthur says. “I wonder where it has been all these years.”

“He obviously had it hidden,” Guinevere responds. “Waiting for you to be ready.”

“Ready for a magnificent sword? I daresay I’ve been quite ready for a sword of this quality for some time,” he says.

“Ready for you to accept Merlin for who he truly is,” she explains. “If this sword has been touched by magic, you should not wield it in a land where magic is outlawed.” She is still idly stroking the sword, clearly touched by the connection to her father.

“You are right. Of course you’re right,” he agrees, nodding. “And I must say I am quite pleased to learn that it was your father who crafted this. It is the second most beautiful thing he has made,” he says, reaching over to caress her cheek.

She smiles, setting the sword aside. “Don’t let Elyan hear you say that,” she teases, leaning forward to kiss him.

“Elyan is a fine knight and a good man, but I don’t believe I would ever call him ‘beautiful’,” Arthur says, nuzzling her nose with his.

Guinevere giggles, but then she cups his face in her hands and looks in his eyes, her expression serious. “You are really at peace with Merlin being a sorcerer?” she asks. “You didn’t hit him or anything, did you?”

“I didn’t hit _him_ ,” he answers. “I did hit a training dummy a bit while he was gone, but that was as much at him as it was at my own frustration at being useless during this ordeal.”

She kisses him again. “You weren’t useless,” she assures him with another kiss. “You kept your cool… gave reassurance to worried parents… you even made a few children smile just by paying attention to them.” She pauses between each phrase to pepper small kisses on his face. “Your father would not have come near the masses of sick and worried commoners. You showed them you are sympathetic to their suffering simply by being there.”

“You always know just what to say to make me feel better,” he says, pulling her into his arms. She squeals when he flops down on the bed so they are both lying down. He kisses her, brushing her slightly-unkempt hair away from her face. “Knowing that both you and Merlin are at my side gives me my first glimmer of hope since my father died,” he whispers, as if he is afraid to speak the admission aloud.

She leans over and kisses him, a little heartsick for her slightly broken husband.

xXx

Arthur stares down the men seated at the table, daring them to speak a word against him.

He has just made his declarations about magic and Merlin’s new role, and is waiting for the inevitable backlash.

“You are undoing all the work your father did to make this kingdom safe,” Lord Roldan finally speaks up.

Arthur is growing tired of this old man challenging his every decision. It is very clear that Roldan was a staunch supporter of his father, and has no intention of being open to change.

“Good,” Arthur says, his voice curt. The old lord gasps while several others at the table try to cover their smiles or, in a few cases, laughter. “My father was a tyrant, and his decision to ban all magic use was motivated by fear.”

“How do you know this, Sire?” Lord Edgar asks.

“By what else would it be motivated? It is natural to fear that which we do not understand, even condemn it,” Arthur answers. “Which is why Merlin’s – _Lord_ Merlin’s – main task will be to ensure that magic is used in ways that only benefit our kingdom. I will freely admit I am still struggling with his revelation about himself and am trying to un-learn the incorrect things my father taught me.”

Lord Roldan’s face is turning red now. “Surely you—”

“Magic is a tool,” Arthur loudly states, cutting off the older man. “It is no more evil than a scythe or a hammer. The evil lies in the heart of one who wields the tool, not the tool itself. Morgana had blackness in her heart, and used her magic to rain terror on Camelot.” He turns slightly, gesturing towards the man at his right. “Merlin has used _his_ magic to thwart her attempts again and again, saving my life, the queen’s life, and _all_ our lives countless times. He has now permanently defeated her, and it is time he is given the thanks he is owed.”

“What do you mean, ‘permanently defeated’?” Lord Alton, one of the younger lords, asks.

“She is dead,” Merlin says.

“Are you certain? She is a high priestess. They are not easily killed,” Alton counters.

“Would you like to see her head? I can retrieve it from the forest for you,” Merlin replies.

Several lords recoil in disgust. “Th-that won’t be necessary,” Lord Alton answers.

“Oh, and if you are wondering where Lord Agravaine is, his head is buried beside hers. I found him with Lady Morgana when I hunted her down. He was a traitor to the crown who chose to help her, turning his back on his own blood,” Merlin says.

“I always suspected he was up to no good,” Lord Edgar mutters. “Had no way to prove it though, so I kept my counsel.”

“Indeed,” Arthur speaks up. “No matter now; neither of them will be a threat to Camelot any more.”

“But what of others? Surely there are others that will attempt to bring harm to us,” Lord Roldan tries. He no longer looks angry. Merlin’s words seemed to have unsettled him quite a bit.

“Are your ears not in working order, Lord Roldan?” Arthur snaps. “Or were you too preoccupied reminiscing about the golden years under my father’s thumb?”

“My lord, I—”

“The king clearly stated that Lord Merlin will see to it that people intending to use magic for evil will be dealt with accordingly, Roldan,” Lord Edgar interrupts him, clearly out of patience. “I suggest you start keeping your mouth closed, as it clearly interferes with how well your ears work.”

Arthur gives Edgar a slight nod of acknowledgment, then stands. “Geoffrey will draw up the declarations. The ban on magic will be repealed by the end of the week,” he declares. He holds his hand out to Guinevere, who had been sitting silently at his right side, her hands clenched tightly together. She takes his hand and stands, then the king and queen exit the council chambers.

“Are you all right?” Arthur asks her once they are in the corridor. “I was afraid you were going to break your own fingers.”

“I was restraining myself,” Guinevere answers. “I was feeling a strong urge to strangle Lord Roldan.” She does not yet speak much, if at all, in Council meetings, as she is still growing accustomed to her new position as queen.

“I have felt that same urge more times than I can recall,” he agrees. “I think he’s a trifle afraid of Merlin now, which is a good thing, I believe.”

“I thought he was going to turn purple,” she says. “Or that we were going to have to summon Gaius with a draught to calm him.”

Arthur snorts a small laugh. “Come. Let’s see how the men are taking the news,” he suggests, turning down a corridor towards the training fields.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “All theory is gray, my friend. But forever green is the tree of life.”

Three months go by, and times are quiet in Camelot. Happy. With Morgana gone, Arthur finally feels like he can breathe. Like he can stop feeling like he has to constantly look over his shoulder.

Once the people got over their initial shock, they began accepting the presence of magic in the kingdom once more. Merlin has even already received some very shy, discreet inquiries from people who either know or suspect they have the gift of magic.

Of course, there were still some people who miss the perceived security under Uther’s law, but, for the most part, the kingdom continued running along the way it always had.

Farmers farmed. Bakers baked. Blacksmiths smithed.

And Queen Guinevere’s monthly courses continued to arrive on time.

When Arthur returns from training to find his wife with red eyes and a doleful demeanor, staring out the window, he doesn’t need to ask her what is wrong.

He drops his gloves on the table and walks straight over to her, sitting beside her and pulling her into his embrace. He kisses the top of her head, then rests his cheek atop it.

“People will begin to talk,” she says, her voice quiet and raspy. “They likely already are.”

“I don’t care what courtiers with more time on their hands than sense in their heads think or say,” he replies. “And neither should you.”

She leans back and looks up at him. “That is easy for you to say. You aren’t the one who is not fulfilling their duty to the kingdom,” she says.

“You are an excellent queen, Guinevere,” he assures her. “You are wise and kind, and the people love you. The lords in the Council have accepted you – even Lord Roldan – and pay heed to your sage advice.” He kisses her forehead. “As to the matter at hand, we have not been married very long, and we are still young. These things sometimes take time. From what I understand, it took my mother quite a long time to conceive, but in the end, she did.”

Guinevere nods and wipes her eyes. “I know it was too much to hope to get with child immediately. I had hoped that our first time… or even our wedding night…” she stops, sighing. “But here we are, nearly four months later and all I have to show for it are soiled linens.”

Arthur draws her to his chest once more, wrapping her in his arms. “I wish I had some words of wisdom or comfort for you,” he quietly says, feeling useless. “Have you considered talking to Gaius, or even a midwife?”

“Perhaps Gaius,” she says into his chest. “I do not want to attract unnecessary attention or invite gossip by calling for a midwife.”

He nods, then says, “That is probably wise.”

As they sit entwined on the bench, Arthur gets an idea.

xXx

“No.” Merlin answers Arthur’s question before he even asks it.

“What?” Arthur asks, thrown off.

“The answer to the question you’re about to ask me is ‘No’,” he clarifies, looking up from his book.

Arthur frowns. “Don’t read my mind.”

“I didn’t read your mind,” Merlin explains. He sighs, marks his place in the book, and closes it. “I simply pay attention.”

Arthur crosses his arms. “So what was I going to ask?”

Merlin stands and comes out from behind his desk. He was given his own rooms when Arthur made him a lord, and spends a great deal of time there, poring over books that had been heretofore forbidden.

“You were going to ask if I could use my magic to help get Gwen pregnant,” Merlin says. “And the answer is no, I will not do that.”

“Will not? So… you _can_ , but you won’t,” Arthur replies. “What if I order you as your king?”

“My answer will remain the same,” Merlin responds. “And yes, I could do it, but I _will not_.”

“Why not?”

Merlin angles his head at him. “Did you discuss this with Gwen before asking me?”

“Don’t avoid the question,” Arthur counters, thus indirectly answering Merlin’s question.

Merlin purses his lips. “Talk to Gaius,” he says. “He will explain to you why I won’t do this thing.”

“Why can’t you tell me?” Arthur asks.

“Oh, I can tell you. But you need to hear the explanation from Gaius, not me,” Merlin answers. “It will be more meaningful to you if you hear it from him.” He had suspected his king was going to come to him for help in this area any day now, and has discussed the matter with Gaius. So the old physician will not be caught off-guard by Arthur coming to ask questions.

Arthur scowls. “I hate it when you’re like this, you know,” he says.

“What, intuitive and intelligent?” Merlin asks.

“No, stubborn and obtuse,” Arthur answers. “Fine. I will speak with Gaius.”

“Take Gwen with you. She should be there, too,” Merlin says.

Arthur sighs and nods. “I was going to tell her. I wouldn’t have let you do it without her consent,” he says.

“Irrelevant now,” Merlin replies with a shrug.

xXx

That evening, after dinner, Arthur and Guinevere summon Gaius to the royal chambers. The elderly physician was expecting the summons, and arrived ready to finally unburden himself.

“Ah, Gaius, please, sit,” Arthur says, gesturing to a chair at the long table just inside the doors.

“Thank you, Sire,” Gaius replies, taking a seat.

“I think we can dispense with formalities this evening,” Arthur suggests. “This meeting is of a… personal nature.”

Gaius simply nods, wondering if he should spare him the discomfort of asking the question. Before he can make his decision, Arthur speaks again.

“Merlin tells me I need to speak to you,” he says. “I… I asked him if his magic could be used to aid us in conceiving an heir, and he said he _could_ , but would not. Then he told me I needed to learn from you why this is the case.”

“Arthur,” Gaius begins, folding his hands on his lap, “there is no delicate way to put this, so I will simply get right to the point: Your father made a deal with a witch to aid your mother in becoming pregnant.” Arthur reaches over and takes Guinevere’s hand, holding it tightly between his. “There is a law when it comes to these sorts of things: a life for a life. In order to create a life—”

“A life must be taken,” Guinevere finishes, her voice a whisper. She was not happy when Arthur told her what he had been thinking, and was against the idea of bringing Merlin in to help. Something did not sit right with her about the idea, and now she knows her intuition was correct.

Arthur stares into the middle distance for a long moment, his face tight and unreadable. “So… what Morgause told me was true?” he finally asks.

“After a fashion,” Gaius answers. “She twisted the truth just enough to make you angry. Yes, your father used magic to get an heir. But he did not know it was your mother’s life that would be the price for yours. The witch told him only that it would be a life. Not that it would be hers.”

Arthur is silent, processing this information. Trying to accept a truth that he had believed to be a lie.

“Your mother loved you, Arthur,” Gaius quietly continues. “For the brief time she was on this earth with you, she loved you.”

“You were there,” Guinevere guesses.

Gaius nods. “I was. I was brought in to examine the new prince and saw her holding you, tired but radiant. Everyone in the room could see the love on her face. She kissed you… a few times, I believe, and whispered something to you before she handed you off to me.” He looks down at his gnarled hands, folded on his lap, and says, “She died moments later.”

Guinevere sniffles, and delicately dabs her eyes with a handkerchief.

Arthur lifts his head, not bothering to hide his tears. “That’s why he banned magic,” he says. “Because he refused to believe he was at fault for her death.”

Gaius nods, impressed with Arthur’s ability to see the truth of the matter rather than what his father would have wanted him to believe. “He felt he needed to cover his mistake. To hide his shame. To have something to point his grief and anger at instead of himself.”

“He was a coward,” Guinevere softly says, and Gaius nods again. Arthur looks at her, surprised. She reaches up and wipes his tears, then says, “I’m sorry, Love, but he was. Any man not willing to own up to his mistakes, who points the blame for something he did at someone or something else, is a coward.”

“I don’t disagree, Guinevere,” Arthur clarifies. “I am simply surprised to hear you say it. I know you have no love for my father, and understandably so, but I have never heard you speak a word of criticism against him.”

“Well, I am queen now, am I not?” she asks with a small smile. “I should be able to speak my mind.”

He lifts their joined hands and kisses her knuckles. “Indeed you should.”

“So now you understand why Merlin will not help you with this?” Gaius asks.

Arthur nods. “I do. I also understand why he wanted me to hear it from you. You were there.”

Gaius nods and says, “You took it rather well. I must admit I expected at least a little shouting.”

Arthur sighs. “This is just the latest in a long list of surprises with which I have had to deal in these past months.”

“Very true,” Gaius agrees. “You are much wiser than your years would suggest, Arthur. You will be a greater king than your father ever was. Uther was clever and shrewd, but heartless. You have your mother’s kindness and ability to see the value in all people along with your father’s strategic brain, and that combination will take you far.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur responds, truly touched at the compliment. “The fact that my father was willing to sacrifice _any_ life just to have a child shows the blatant disregard he had for others. It was always a quality I despised in him.”

“It was a quality we all despised in him, Arthur,” Gaius says.

xXx

A week later, Merlin pays a call to the royal chambers one afternoon, bringing a progress report about some children he’s been tutoring.

Arthur isn’t terribly curious, but Guinevere has taken a keen interest in Merlin’s teachings and asked him to keep her updated when there is something worth reporting.

“Merlin,” Arthur speaks up once he has finished talking with the queen, “a word.”

“Yes?” Merlin asks, wondering what is on the king’s mind now.

“I’m sure you recall the subject we discussed last week,” he says.

“Yes, of course. My answer is still no, and I’m surprised you would even—”

“I’m not,” Arthur interjects. “I have a different request. Guinevere and I have discussed it, and we are wondering if there is a way you can… check to see that… well, that she is, um…”

“What Arthur is delicately trying to say is, can you discern if I am barren or not?” Guinevere asks.

“Oh,” Merlin replies. “I think so. I’d like to consult some of my books first.”

“Of course,” Guinevere says.

“Come back this evening, after dinner,” Arthur says.

“Oh,” Merlin repeats. “I guess I know what I’m doing until then.”

“If you have something more pressing, it can wait,” Guinevere replies, giving Arthur a sideways look that clearly says _be patient._

“No, no… it shouldn’t be a problem,” Merlin says. “My research on goblins and pixies can definitely wait.”

“Goblins?” Arthur asks, his hand unconsciously going to his ear.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Merlin assures him. “Until this evening, then.”

xXx

One thing Arthur has noticed since Merlin’s promotion is that he now knocks on the doors to the royal chambers, which is something he rarely did before. He made an effort to remember to do so after Arthur and Guinevere’s marriage, but even then he would slip up and sometimes forget.

So when his knock comes a short time after dinner, Arthur simply calls out for him to enter, not bothering to get up.

Merlin comes in and closes the door behind him. “Good evening Sire, my lady,” he says.

Arthur just rolls his eyes. Merlin only addresses them by title in private as a joke now, when he feels like being aggravating. He of course uses their titles when others are around, but in private, he addresses his king and queen by their given names.

“Oh stop it,” Guinevere says, shaking her head but smiling.

“What news do you have for us?” Arthur asks.

“Ah, getting straight to the point then,” Merlin replies. “Yes, I will be able to check Gwen’s… faculties,” he says. “I will need to touch you in a somewhat intimate manner, but nothing inappropriate.”

“All right,” Guinevere says after a moment. “Do I need to…?”

“Just lie down,” Merlin says, answering whatever her unasked question may have been.

Guinevere nods and they all head towards the bed, where she lies down. Arthur sits on the other side, wanting to watch but trying not to hover. Merlin pulls a seat up to the bedside. He can see she seems a little uneasy.

“Gwen,” he says, giving her a smile, “just relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” she says, but he can see some of the tension leaving her. “I’m just… worried that there might be bad news.”

Arthur takes her hand and kisses it, trying to reassure her and give support.

“Ready?” Merlin asks, his hands hovering in midair, waiting. He can see Arthur nodding in his periphery, but his attention is on Gwen. Only when she nods does he touch her.

His hands are warm. Hot, even. She can feel the heat of them through the layers of her clothing. His touch is gentle as his hands carefully make their way over her stomach. He mutters and hums quietly to himself as he works, giving nothing away.

“Merlin,” Arthur finally says. Merlin shushes him. His hands stop. Then they start moving again.

When he finally lifts his hands and leans back, Guinevere is about ready to jump out of her skin.

“I’m barren, aren’t I?” she whispers. “My womb is an inhospitable wasteland—”

“You’re not barren, Gwen,” Merlin interrupts, stopping her from going off into a grief-fueled ramble that would do nothing but upset her further. “There is nothing wrong with you at all.”

“Oh,” she says, then her brows furrow. “But…”

“I know,” Merlin sighs. “It doesn’t give you any reassurance. If something was wrong, then you would at least have a _reason._ ”

“Yes,” she answers, sitting up.. Arthur nods beside her. “Not that I wished for there to have been something wrong, but… like you said.”

Arthur leans over and kisses her cheek. “We will simply have to keep trying,” he murmurs into her ear.

“You know, it could be your fault,” Merlin suggests, looking at Arthur.

“That’s preposterous,” Arthur huffs, waving him off. “Everyone knows that—”

“It takes _two_ people to make a baby. Therefore, logically, if there is a problem, it could be with _either_ person,” Merlin interrupts. “Gaius has even been doing research on it.”

Arthur makes a face. “What kind of research?” he hesitantly asks.

“I haven’t asked,” Merlin answers. “I have decided I do not wish to know.”

“Right,” Arthur declares, getting up off of the bed, signaling that it is time for Merlin to leave them. “Well, thank you for the assurance that Guinevere is well.” He holds out his hand for her, which she takes and stands.

“You’re welcome,” Merlin replies, walking with them towards the doors. “If you like, I can continue to monitor her – you,” he amends, switching his attention to Gwen, “and let you know when a good time would be to, um, try.”

“I’ll think about it,” she says. “That just feels a little invasive right now. If several more months pass with no success, I will consider it.”

“Understood. This isn’t exactly comfortable for me either,” he admits, giving her a shy smile.

She leans over and gives him a small kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Merlin,” she says.

He gives her a bow and says, “You are most welcome, my lady.” This time he uses her title with full sincerity. Then he swiftly exits.

xXx

“Mmm,” Guinevere hums in her sleep, stirring slightly. She starts to slowly wake, not really sure what woke her.

Until a warm burst of pleasure jolts through her, bringing her into full wakefulness.

“Arthur,” she gasps, opening her eyes and looking down her body to see the silhouette of his blond head between her legs.

He merely hums in response, unbothered and undeterred, continuing to lap and suck at her center.

She presses her head back into her pillow and moans.

He slides two fingers into her and she moans again, louder.

Less than a minute later, Guinevere climaxes, her back arching off of the bed. Arthur smiles against the inside of her thigh, then kisses it before prowling up over her body.

“Sorry for waking you,” he says, still grinning down at her. She can see the whiteness of his teeth in the darkness of their room.

“Are you really?” she asks.

“No,” he answers.

“That was lovely, but I don’t see how it is going to help get me pregnant,” she says.

He just laughs and gives her a leisurely kiss.

She has no idea what time it is, not that she cares. Somewhere deep down she remembers Arthur kissing her neck, his hand on her breast.

“I fell asleep on you,” she reasons, pulling her lips away. “Sorry.”

“You’ve had a stressful couple of weeks, Love,” he replies. “It’s all right.”

“Have you been awake this whole time?” she asks. His hands and lips are wandering, clearly not finished with her yet.

“No,” he answers, his lips skimming her collar bone. “I dozed off for a short time. When I woke up you were lying there looking so…” he pauses to draw a taut nipple into his mouth and swirl his tongue around it. “Looking so tantalizing, that I decided to pick up where we left off. The fact that you were lying in the perfect position for me to slide in between your thighs gave me the idea to wake you in an… interesting way.” Then he drops his head again and lightly drags his teeth, then tongue over the lower curve of her breast.

“Was I?” she asks, her voice growing breathy. “I rarely sleep on my back.”

Arthur just hums in reply, busy again at her other nipple.

Guinevere feels him flex his hips against her, and reaches down in search of his cock. He groans when she wraps her fingers around him and lightly squeezes.

She moves her hand, stroking him the way she knows he likes, until he is squirming away from her. She laughs and releases him, then pushes his shoulders and sits up, flipping them so she is on top of him.

“Mmm, good idea,” he says, his smug smile glinting in the darkness, his arms tan against the white of their bed linens as he laces his fingers behind his head.

“If you’re going to be arrogant, I’ll go back to sleep,” she says and begins to move away from him.

He grabs her by the waist, his reflexes lightning-fast, holding her there. “Don’t you dare,” he says. Then he slides his hands up her back and pulls her down over him so he can kiss her.

She reaches down between them and positions him at her entrance, still kissing him, then lowers herself down onto his length.

He groans into her mouth and lifts his hips up to meet her. His arms wrap around her back, holding her close while she moves over him.

She rocks her hips, sliding up and down on him while still kissing him. When she moves her lips away from his, he leans his head back to allow her to press biting kisses to his neck.

Because of her earlier attention, he doesn’t last long. He tightens his arms around her, his hips thrusting upwards as his body tenses with his orgasm. A few seconds later, he relaxes, then gives her a soft, languid kiss.

He holds her on his chest, still joined, for a few minutes, relishing the closeness and contact.

“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead.

“I love you, too,” she replies, then carefully disengages herself from him to cuddle against his side.

“I wonder if position makes a difference,” Arthur muses after a short time.

Guinevere is quiet for a bit, and he wonders if she has fallen asleep again. Then she speaks. “Well, we’ll just have to do some experimenting then, won’t we?”

“Guinevere!” he exclaims, shocked, but then he starts laughing in delight, curling his arms more tightly around her. “You continue to be a surprise, my love.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” she says, hiding her face in his shoulder.

“The best way,” he replies, kissing the top of her head. “Sleep now, Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was researching to find a possible (and simple) explanation for Guinevere's perceived infertility, I came across the following statistic: "15-20% of infertility cases have no obvious cause and are classed as 'unexplained infertility'." So that's what I'm going with.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “While Man's desires and aspirations stir, He cannot choose but err.”

“ _Merlin…”_

_Merlin hears the voice calling to him, and follows. It is familiar, but he can’t quite place it. Definitely female. Soft. Melodious. Smoky._

“ _Merlin… come to me...”_

_It is louder now, so he knows he is getting closer to where she is. Her voice stirs something within him, something primal and masculine, a part of himself he has decided to push aside in favor of practicing his gift._

“ _Merlin,” the voice repeats, and he rounds a corner._

“ _Gwen.” His own voice sounds odd, almost detached from himself. Gwen is there in his room, a room that is familiar but strange._

_She holds her hand out to him and he takes it. She tugs him towards her, and her lips are immediately on his._

_He pulls away a second later. “We can’t,” he says. “You’re married to Arthur.”_

_She raises a too-knowing eyebrow at him. “Since when do you care about Arthur?” she challenges, then reclaim his lips._

_Gwen is strong. Remarkably so. Almost unnaturally so. Merlin cannot pull away this time, and before he knows it, he is being pushed back on a bed – he’s not even sure if it’s his bed or not – and she is straddling him, her tongue thrusting its way into his mouth._

_He wants to resist. He knows he should resist. But as his arousal grows, it becomes more difficult to remember_ why _he shouldn’t be doing this._

_She sits up, staring down at him. As she licks her lips, he notices they are more red than usual, and he brings his hand up to his mouth._

_There is blood on his fingers. His eyes widen in surprise. “Gwen…”_

“ _You’re delicious, Merlin,” she coos, pulling at the laces in the front of her dress. She grinds her hips over his arousal as she leans down over him again. “I need another taste,” she whispers, then plunges her tongue into his mouth again._

_He is so enthralled that he hadn’t noticed the slight change in her voice. It is darker and raspier._

_He tries to move, but cannot. He is stuck to the bed. When he manages to summon up the will to move his hands away from her body – which was extremely difficult with his mouth full of her breast – he can feel that the bed has changed. He can feel that it is springier,_ stickier _, and seems to be made of ropes._

_Not ropes. Webs. Gwen sits up once more to look down at him. She stretches, her arms lifting over her head make her breasts lift and shift in a very intriguing way._

_Merlin stares, pinned between her thighs. He still can’t move, but he’s stopped struggling, hypnotized by her nakedness._

_She stretches further up, and suddenly her skin splits, revealing something shiny and black underneath._

“ _G—”_

_She shudders and moans, then her skin splits further, opening up to reveal multifaceted eyes, two long fangs, and four pairs of long slender legs. A bulbous black and red abdomen weighs down his legs._

_Before Merlin can react, the giant spider Gwen lunges, tearing his head from his body._

Merlin wakes up in a cold sweat, panting and trembling. He lies there, staring at the wall, pondering his dream. He remembers it with the type of vivid clarity he only gets when the dream is prophetic. He rarely remembers “normal” dreams, so when one stays with him, he knows it has some sort of meaning.

He fixes his gaze on the nightstand, where he keeps a piece of parchment and a quill, and, using his magic, makes a quick note of the dream’s content so he can ponder it more in the morning. Right now, all he wants to do is go back to sleep.

As he rolls on to his back, he notices his bed linens are soaked with sweat. He also finally acknowledges the erection that now refuses to be ignored.

He heaves a large sigh, and as he takes himself in hand, tries to think of Freya. But the memories of Gwen are too vivid, too erotic, and he is flooded with shame after he spills across his hand and stomach.

Just before he finally drifts off to sleep again, he makes a mental note to avoid the queen the next day.

xXx

Two weeks after Merlin’s dream king Odin decides to attack Camelot. Troops were spotted by knights on patrol in the surrounding forest, so Camelot’s mighty army has been making preparations for battle.

While Guinevere is busy helping Gaius prepare for casualties, Merlin goes off in search of Arthur.

He finds him in the throne room, and immediately knows that the king is not happy with him at all.

Arthur is angry because he felt Merlin should have been able to warn him.

Merlin is angry because Arthur is right – but the only prophetic dream he’s had lately is the one about Gwen turning into a spider and killing him. Something is distracting him. But he can’t really tell Arthur about _that_ , so he settles on a failsafe.

“The gift of Sight is not something everyone has, and even if they do, it’s not always clear,” Merlin snaps. “Or accurate. Even with years of work and practice, prophecies can still turn out to be wrong, because people still have free will.”

“What good is having a Court Sorcerer if he can’t warn me that war is imminent?” Arthur retorts. “Now, unless you have something useful to say or do, leave.”

“I will be on the front lines with you, Arthur,” Merlin says, keeping his voice carefully level. “Odin will wish he never set foot in Camelot. I promise.”

“You had better be there, and you had better make good on that promise,” Arthur says, heading for the doors to the throne room. “I need to find Leon and Elyan to discuss battle strategy.”

“Very good, my lord,” Merlin says, watching the king walk away from him.

Arthur keeps walking.

xXx

That night, Merlin calls Kilgarrah.

The dragon is _also_ not happy with him. He glowers down at the young warlock, clearly displeased.

“You aren’t making enough progress,” the Great Dragon chastises. “I had hoped that you would have the king in the palm of your hand by now.”

“These things take time,” Merlin replies. “I think Arthur may be smarter than you think he is.”

Kilgarrah laughs, a derisive snort that comes with a plume of brimstone-scented smoke. “ _You_ must be smarter. You must be quicker. You must—”

“What do you want from me?” Merlin interrupts, exasperated. “I’m doing everything I can! Arthur has a new manservant, but I’m working harder than ever! I barely sleep for trying to make myself as indispensable as possible!”

“I want you to do what you were meant to do here,” Kilgarrah haughtily answers. “You are close to the young king, but you must get closer. You must be the only person who has his ear.”

“Now? He’s angry with me now! I wasn’t able to warn him about the coming attack so now it’s like I’ve… taken two steps back!” Merlin yells, frustrated.

The dragon draws himself up, sitting straighter. “You must rectify the situation. I do not have forever, you know. You _will_ rectify this situation and do as I say!”

With the stresses from the coming war, Arthur, and now Kilgarrah, something inside Merlin snaps. He takes a step towards the dragon and faces him down. “Did you forget that I am a dragonlord?” he demands. “It is  _you_ who does what  _I_ say, not the other way around!”

The dragon leans down low, lowering his massive head almost to the ground. He nearly growls when he speaks. “Who do you think _made_ you dragonlord? _I_ bestowed the power on your grandfather, who passed it on your father, who passed it on to you. You may be able to command me, but I am still the source of that power and you will do well not to forget it.”

He straightens up, glowers down at Merlin once more, then launches his massive body into the night sky.

Merlin can only gape after him.

xXx

Odin’s attack comes the next night. However, Camelot is more than ready for them, and Odin’s men cannot match Arthur’s knights in battle. Percival is able to take down two men at a time. Gwaine’s crafty fighting confounds them. Leon has always been a good strategist, but aided by Elyan’s clever ingenuity, their fighting tactics are now nigh infallible.

And Arthur. Commanding from the front of the battle, his gleaming sword practically moving on its own. The very sight of him causes some of Odin’s knights to consider fleeing into the darkness of the forest.

And those that were not intimidated by the might and stamina of the king learned the hard way that the slender young man at his side was _not_ to be trifled with.

Odin’s men wind up retreating just after midnight, but Merlin’s skin prickles with the knowledge that this is not the end of the conflict.

“We’ve won the battle, but not the war,” he says to Arthur as they head back inside the castle to clean up and check the wounded.

“What’s that?” Arthur asks.

“They’ll be back,” Merlin explains.

“Why the hell would they come back? We obliterated them!” Gwaine remarks. “Is there anyone _left_ to come back?”

Merlin stops walking, and the men around him also stop. “They’ll be back,” he firmly declares. “I know I wasn’t able to predict the initial attack, but I  _know_ they aren’t giving up yet.”

“Good enough for me, mate,” Gwaine says, claps Merlin on the shoulder, then starts walking again. The other knights follow, murmuring their agreement.

Merlin turns to Arthur. “And you?”

“I agree. They’re not done. Odin is too stubborn. Too… stupid to concede defeat after this one battle. Either he’s got more men or he’s going to find an ally. Maybe Lot; he’s been suspiciously quiet since he ascended the throne after Cenred,” Arthur says. “Come on. We need to get cleaned up and I need my bed and my wife.”

“Your wife is most likely running herself ragged helping Gaius with wounded,” Merlin comments.

“I shall go to the infirmary then. Give the men a little encouragement. Thank them for their hard work, that sort of thing,” Arthur says with a nod. He heads in the direction of the throne room, which is being used as a temporary hospital, while Merlin, bone tired from his magical exertions, heads to his room.

xXx

Arthur hears the soft click of the doors to the royal chambers and looks up from the parchment in front of him. “Ah, Guinevere, there you are,” he says. He smiles, but there is a tension about it that betrays the stress he’s been feeling as each day passes.

It has been a week since the battle with Odin, and there hasn’t been a second attack. Some of the knights are beginning to become lax, thinking they’re in the clear. Arthur, Merlin, and Leon are still certain the war is not over, but as each day passes quietly, it becomes more difficult to convince the men to stay vigilant. Even Gwaine’s threats are losing their efficacy.

“Here I am,” Guinevere replies, walking over to him. She has a basket over her arm, which she sets on the large table before walking over to the desk to kiss her husband’s upturned face.

“How was your trip to the lower town?” he asks, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close.

“It was very enjoyable,” she answers. “I won’t bore you with the details of my purchases,” she says, her voice light. She knows he has no interest in fabrics and flowers, but it doesn’t trouble her. “But I do have something to—”

Urgent knocking interrupts them, and Arthur gives her an apologetic squeeze before bidding the person enter.

“My lord,” the breathless page says with a bow, “armies have been spotted, coming from the north and west. Sir Leon is gathering the men right now and sent me to alert you.”

Arthur stands, gives Guinevere a peck on the lips, then grabs his sword and is off, following the page out the doors and down to the armory.

Guinevere stands, staring after him, a torrent of conflicting emotions flooding through her. She wrings her hands for a moment, then takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and heads out herself, looking for Gaius.

xXx

Odin is back, and this time he has brought reinforcements from Caerleon. Arthur stares from atop his horse down at the approaching forces from the west, wondering what he possibly could have done to offend Caerleon enough that he would join forces with Odin against him.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Arthur says. “We have virtually no relationship of any kind with Caerleon. We aren’t enemies; we aren’t allies. We barely interact.” He turns and looks at Merlin. “Why would they ally with Odin?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin answers. “Your father didn’t…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

“I have no idea, but it’s possible. He was good at turning friends into enemies,” Arthur replies with a sigh. He shakes his head and turns his horse. “I am already weary of cleaning up his messes.”

Merlin steers his horse and follows. “Cleaning up other peoples’ messes is never enjoyable,” he agrees, his voice bearing a knowing tone.

Arthur snorts a laugh. “Shut up, Merlin,” he says, but there is no ire behind it.

xXx

The fighting begins just after sunset, with armies attacking from two directions. Leon leads the forces defending the north, Arthur commands the west, hoping to shed some light on the reason behind Caerleon joining the attack. Merlin has posted himself on a high vantage point, sending down blasts of magic in two directions.

Effective though he is, he cannot keep up. Leon’s troops are growing tired. Arthur’s troops are outnumbered.

Merlin _cannot_ let his king lose this war. He looks to the sky, then, ignoring Arthur’s voice angrily screaming his name, he raises his voice and calls the only reinforcement he knows that will turn the tide of this battle.

He then looks down and finds Arthur’s bewildered face. The king saw and heard what Merlin just did, but has no idea what it was. He looks around, wondering what kind of spell his Sorcerer has just conjured. He had half-expected all of Caerleon’s men to just fall unconscious. There was a brief lull, as  _everyone_ heard Merlin’s cry – it was unnaturally loud – but once it became apparent that there was no danger, the fighting resumed.

Until.

A sound splits the air that the residents of Camelot had hoped to never hear again. The sound of large, leathery wings slicing through the sky. Fortunately, the dragon appeared so quickly after the sound reached them, that no one truly had time to prepare.

When he swoops down low over the invading forces, panic set in on all sides.

When he opens his great mouth and spews fire over half of Caerleon’s forces, then did the same to Odin’s, the Knights of Camelot rally, spurred into action by a victorious battle cry from Sir Gwaine, who was the first back into the fray on the north side.

Once Arthur recover s from his shock at seeing a dragon who was  _ supposed _ to be dead, he channel s that anger into his sword hand, cutting down anyone who g e t s in his way.

Kilgarrah makes another pass, and the forces begin to retreat.

When he swoops past a third time, there are only stragglers remaining. He slows as he passes the stunned King Arthur, where he dips his head in a reverential manner. Then he turns his attention to Merlin, who lifts a hand in thanks to the great beast.

Then he soars away, disappearing into the night sky.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Blood is a juice of rarest quality.”

“You told me I killed him!” Arthur yells, furious, as soon as Merlin walks into the throne room.

Merlin was prepared for his anger. He knew the king would be irate at learning the dragon lived, but he also knew that Kilgarrah was the only thing that could have saved them. “Arthur, use your brain. Do you honestly think a _dragon_ could be killed by your paltry sword?”

“You lied to me. Again,” Arthur growls.

“Out of necessity,” Merlin calmly states. “Like always.”

Arthur makes a noise of disgust and turns away. “Well if I didn’t kill him, what happened to him?”

“I ordered him away. I commanded him to do no harm to Camelot.”

“You commanded him.” Arthur’s voice drips with skepticism.

“I am a dragonlord. I can command dragons, and they have no choice but to do my bidding. I ordered him to leave and end his reign of terror then, just as I ordered him to come and _help us_ tonight. We would have been defeated without his aid. Not only that, but word will spread that we have a _dragon_ on our side, and every kingdom will think twice before attacking us.” He pauses for a beat. “You’re welcome.” Then he turns and begins to walk away.

“I did not dismiss you!” Arthur yells.

Merlin stops. “I don’t need your permission to do anything,” he says over his shoulder, then leaves.

Arthur stomps over to his throne and drops onto it, exhausted, angry, and frustrated. He knows Merlin is right. _Damn his eyes, he’s always right._ He presses the heels of his hands against his tired eyes and groans, thinking for probably the millionth time that life would be much simpler if he was a farmer or something common.

The doors creak open again, and Arthur lowers his hands to see Leon and Percival walking towards him with King Caerleon between them.

Arthur stands. Caerleon gives him a slight bow.

“King Caerleon,” Arthur greets, his tone inviting the other man to speak.

“King Arthur,” Caerleon replies. “I have come to offer my apologies and alliance. Odin… he deceived me. He told me you were planning to invade my kingdom.”

“And you believed him?”

“He was very convincing. He had parchments with Camelot’s seal on them, parchments that he claimed were gotten from Camelot scouts in the forest between our kingdoms,” Caerleon supplies.

“Sire, I confirmed the disappearance of one of our seals with Geoffrey,” Leon chimes in. “He said it went missing about three weeks ago.”

“Why am I just now hearing of this then?” Arthur asks.

“Because Geoffrey was still searching for it, thinking he misplaced it. He did not want to submit a report until he was certain it was taken,” Leon answers. “If it is any consolation, the seal was one of the kingdom’s seals, not your _personal_ royal seal.”

“Well, considering there is only one of those and it is in my possession, I should think not,” Arthur replies. “Thank you, Sir Leon.” He turns his attention to Caerleon. “I accept your apology, but am not ready to discuss terms of our alliance at this time.”

“Of course. You are exhausted and it the hour is late,” the other king concedes.

Arthur gives him a small nod. “You are welcome to stay the night. Leon, please show the king to our finest guest rooms.”

“Of course, Sire,” Leon responds.

“Arthur?” Caerleon asks before he can be escorted away.

“Yes?”

“Where… where did that dragon come from?”

Arthur sighs. “My Court Sorcerer has some explaining to do,” he answers. “That is the only thing I can tell you right now, for it is all I know.”

“He is quite an impressive weapon,” Caerleon comments.

“The dragon, or Merlin?” Arthur asks.

Caerleon pauses a moment before answers, “Both, I think.”

xXx

Arthur leaves the throne room shortly after Leon, Percival, and Caerleon, intending to head up to the royal chambers, where he is hoping his wife is waiting for him with open arms.

He strides through the corridors at a quick pace, but is waylaid by Gwaine.

“Arthur!” the knight calls.

“What?” Arthur testily replies, not slowing his pace.

Gwaine catches him up and walks beside him. “We have Odin. He’s in the dungeons,” he says.

“And?”

“ _And_ , what shall we do with him?”

“Leave him there for now. It is very late, and I am not making any decisions about anything for the rest of the night,” Arthur answers. “Tell the head guard that Odin is to be treated well. Give him clean blankets and a hot meal.”

“Really?” Gwaine asks.

“Yes, really,” Arthur confirms. “I need him to know that I am not who he thinks I am. That I am no longer the brash idiot I was in my youth.” He stops at the end of the corridor leading to the royal chambers. “That I’m not my father.”

Gwaine nods, then parts ways with his king. Arthur continues on to his rooms, and he is quite pleased to discover that Guinevere is there, waiting for him, already dressed for bed.

“Arthur,” she says, hurrying over to him.

He locks the doors and pulls her against him, not unlike the night he was crowned king. He wraps himself around her, burying his face in her neck.

“Is is true? What I heard?” she softly asks, her fingers running through his hair.

“The dragon lives,” he answers. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“All right,” she replies. He lifts his head and she tenderly kisses him, pouring her love for him into it.

“Thank you,” he sighs, dropping his forehead against hers. His hands slide up, then down her back before moving around to the belt of her robe. “Is this new? It looks a little big for you,” he comments, untying the belt and sliding his hands inside.

She hesitates a moment before simply answering, “Yes.” Then she kisses him once more. When his hands slide down to grab her rear, she softly moans into his mouth. “Arthur, I…”

“Can we talk later?” he asks, his hands still roving her body, setting it alight with his touch. “I… I need…”

She reaches up and caresses his face, understanding what he’s trying to say. She smiles and nods. “It will keep,” she quietly says, then cups his face with both hands as she leans up to kiss him. She knows her husband as well as she knows herself, and understands his current mood. His emotions are overflowing and he needs an outlet. “Whatever you need, my love,” she whispers against his mouth.

It is as if her words light a fire within him, and his kiss turns from merely needy to ravenous and all-consuming. She clings to him, holding on for the ride until he shoves at her robe, pushing it from her shoulders.

She lets it fall to the floor, then follows it, kneeling in front of him, using the soft robe to cushion her knees. She opens his trousers and withdraws his cock, already mostly hard. He groans as her strong, slender fingers caress his length for a few moments of sweet torture before she slides it into her mouth.

“Guinevere…” Her name is a moan, a prayer, as his head falls back, his mouth slack. He grips a nearby chair with one hand and places the other one on her head, his fingers burrowing softly into her soft, springy hair.

Guinevere holds the base of Arthur’s shaft with one hand as her lips and tongue slide over his length, sucking, swirling, and even lightly nibbling.

It is very nearly too much for the already overwhelmed king. “Stop, stop… I… I want to…” he rasps, unable to form a complete sentence.

She gently pulls away and gazes up at him, her dark eyes soft but wise. His hand moves from the top of her head downward, caressing her cheek before it comes to a stop under her chin, where the slightest pressure with his fingertips is the only prompting she needs to stand.

She rises, her hands moving to remove her gown, but he stops her, taking her hands in his. He kisses them, then turns her around in his arms, so her back is to him.

She makes a soft sound of confusion, which he shushes, his lips on her neck. “Trust me,” he whispers, then lightly bites the sensitive skin there, making her gasp.

His hands run up and down her body, making her tingle in anticipation. They close over her breasts, thumbs teasing nipples he can clearly feel through the thin silk of her nightgown. They harden under his attention, and she sighs, melting against his chest.

He continues to kiss her neck, his hands still on her breasts, and she is distracted enough that she doesn’t notice he is moving them towards the table.

When one of his hands begins lifting the skirt of her gown, she thinks _Finally._

But she is thrown off balance once more when he simply lifts it high enough to slip his hand beneath it. He groans against her skin when his fingers feel the wet heat of her. They circle and slide, and she whimpers in pleasure, her head falling back onto his shoulder.

He presses his erection against her backside and she instinctively pushes back against him. When she does this, he eases her shoulders forward, bending her over the table.

“Arthur?” she asks, a little confused but a lot turned on.

“Trust me,” he repeats, and she feels cool air on the backs of her legs as he lifts her skirts.

His hand slides over the swell of her ass, bared to him now, and she gasps. The anticipation has her heart racing, and the feeling that they’re doing something that feels naughty or even dirty or forbidden has her head swimming. She is throbbing with need and she’s not even sure what he’s going to do.

She feels his thumbs ease her open and a moment later, he slides into her from behind.

“Ohhh…” she moans, her hands groping the surface of the table, trying to find an anchor. Finding none, she presses her palms into the wood as he moves with long, slow strokes behind her.

“Yes,” he grunts, his head dropping back, eyes closed, jaw slack. His strong fingers grip the firm but yielding roundness of her hips in front of him.

He begins moving faster, with more urgency, and she gasps, one hand slapping the surface of the table.

“Sorry.” The apology is a breathy rasp, and while he means it, he doesn’t ease up.

“I’m fine,” she manages to answer. “Just… surprised,” she adds, then pushes back against him to show him exactly how “fine” she is.

He grunts again, his fingers digging into her flesh now as his hips snap forward with each thrust. He leans forward and slips his hand around, his fingers easily finding her most sensitive spot.

She moans and his fingers falter as the husky, sultry sound of her pleasure tips him over. He stills, his hips rigid as he floods into her.

Then he slumps over her, resting his head on her back. His fingers resume their activity, determined to give her her pleasure even though he is spent. He stays sheathed within her, turning his head so he can drop kisses where he can reach.

Guinevere’s head is spinning with the building pleasure. Being pinned to the table, Arthur’s weight on her, his shaft still filling her, has her feeling just off-balance enough to heighten the excitement.

“Ar… ah…” she pants, so close. A moment later she explodes, her orgasm more intense than it has ever been, and her shout is almost a sob.

She drops her head against the cool, hard wood of the table, her body feeling boneless and spent. Arthur moves a bit and kisses the back of her neck, then whispers, “I love you,” before easing away from her.

He helps her straighten up, holds her robe for her to slip her arms back into, and ties the belt around her waist. He pecks her lips. “Thank you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” she replies, smiling at him before taking his hand and leading him over to the sleeping area.

She tidies herself up while he changes for bed. Neither speaks for several minutes.

“I hadn’t realized how exhausted I am,” he says as he slides between the sheets.

She pulls him into her arms, resting his head on her chest. “You have been at war, my love,” she says, stroking his hair.

He sighs, and she can hear every emotion he is feeling in that sigh.

“Sleep now,” she murmurs, kissing the top of his head.

He hums some sort of reply, and she feels him relax against her. She doesn’t close her eyes until she is sure he is settled and content enough to sleep.

Ten seconds after she closes her eyes, he speaks.

“Guinevere, wasn’t there something you wished to tell me?” he asks.

She pauses a moment before answering, “I will tell you tomorrow. You need your sleep now.”

xXx

“My lady, a word?” Merlin’s voice reaches Guinevere’s ears and she turns towards him, a smile on her face.

Haloed by the morning sunlight, the queen looks beautiful. Ethereal. Yet Merlin’s returning smile is forced, because visions from the dream he had the night before are still swirling around in his head.

It was another strange dream about Gwen. Not as… explicit as the first one, but no less unsettling. This time, Merlin was trapped, immobile, his body restrained by chains he couldn’t magic away. Guinevere simply stood over him, her expression neutral and unreadable, arms crossed in front of her chest. After a few minutes, she slowly shook her head.

“Help me, Gwen,” Merlin had said. “Free me from these chains.”

A disturbingly beatific smile slowly crossed her face before she replied, “I will not free you from chains you made yourself.”

Merlin woke up covered in sweat, heart pounding, his sheets wound around him. For a moment he thought he was still in chains.

“Merlin?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

“Oh. Sorry. I was just… admiring how lovely you look there in the sunlight,” he says. It’s not a lie, but not the complete truth.

He is getting quite good at that.

“Flatterer,” Guinevere chuckles, walking away from the window. “You’re getting to be as bad as Arthur.”

“The gods forbid,” Merlin replies, feigning horror.

She laughs more, then asks, “With what can I help you this morning?”

He stares at her for another long moment. _Something is different about her._

“Merlin, is everything all right?” she asks. “You seem… out of sorts this morning.”

“I’m not certain, to be honest,” he answers.

“It’s your spat with Arthur, isn’t it?” she prompts, sitting and gesturing to another chair. Her hand comes to land on her stomach, and his eyes follow it.

Something snaps into focus. _Oh. I wonder if she knows._ “It’s more than a spat, I fear,” he says as he sits, keeping his thoughts to himself for the moment. “He was rather angry.”

She feels her cheeks heat as she remembers how her husband channeled that anger into her the night before. He seemed a bit better this morning, but judging by the sounds coming from the training fields below, he has found an additional way to vent his emotions.

“I know,” she quietly says. “You know how he gets when he feels he has been betrayed.”

“I do,” he answers. “But you know, it’s not really a _new_ betrayal. It’s all a part of the need I had to keep my magic secret. I had to keep so much from him that if I told him _everything_ at once, he would have been overwhelmed.” He pauses and adds, “I’m not even certain I _could_ remember everything.”

She reaches out and puts her hand over his. He feels an energy from her he has never felt before, but he understands why now. “Do yourself a favor and maybe try to think of some of the bigger things. If there are any more, I mean. Especially if there is anything that could revisit us, like the dragon. Then make sure you tell him about any of those things _before_ it is quite literally swooping down over his head, spewing fire. Even if it _is_ something that is helping us.”

Merlin nods, looking at his feet. “That’s probably a good idea,” he admits. “I mean, I’ve become quite accustomed to him being unhappy with me. Yelling at me.” He snorts a small laugh. “I have even come to think of his yelling as his way of showing affection.”

“That’s not actually too far from the truth,” Gwen agrees, laughing a little with him. “He has a difficult time with his emotions, as you know. He feels so, so deeply, but he never learned how to deal with those feelings.”

“Uther did a lot of damage,” he says with a nod.

“We are working on it. He is trying,” she assures him.

Merlin stands. “With your guidance, I’m sure he’ll almost be a normal person in, oh, ten years or so,” he says, grinning so she knows he is teasing.

“I’m aiming for five,” she replies, accepting his outstretched hand to assist her to her feet.

“Very ambitious of you,” he says. “Thank you, Gwen. I do feel better.”

“Any time, Merlin,” she responds.

He gives her a deferential nod, then leaves.

Leaning on the closed doors, he closes his eyes. He _does_ feel better about the issue with Arthur, but his conversation with Guinevere did not give him the answers he was really seeking.

He may go mad if he keeps having these dreams.

xXx

Merlin knows Arthur’s schedule. Any time, day or night, he knows exactly where to find the king and, often, what he is doing. He also generally knows where Guinevere is. So he knows exactly when to approach him.

“You’re getting predictable, Merlin,” Arthur says, not looking up from the report he is reading.

“Am I?” Merlin asks. He is genuinely surprised that his master was expecting him.

Arthur sets aside the parchment and looks up. “I am here, reviewing reports. Guinevere is meeting with the kitchen staff. Of course you would seek me out now.”

“Fair enough,” Merlin allows, sitting at the table with him. He folds his hands in front of him, meeting the king’s level gaze.

“Well?” Arthur prompts.

“I should have told you about the dragon straight away. I mean, after I told you the truth about myself. I am sorry,” Merlin says. “I did not anticipate needing to call for his assistance, and I should have.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur replies. He pauses, carefully weighing his next words. “To be honest, I… I do understand why you didn’t tell me. I might have done the same thing if I were you.”

Merlin is surprised once again. He was not prepared for Reasonable Arthur. He makes an educated guess.

“You talked to Gwen, didn’t you?” Merlin asks. Arthur nods. “She’s a sensible woman, your wife.”

“You talked to her, too,” Arthur guesses.

“Of course I did,” Merlin immediately answers with a laugh. “Who else would I go to? Especially when the topic is you.”

Arthur angles his head in acknowledgment. “I certainly hope you’re not discussing me with anyone else,” he says.

“Of course not. I would not betray your trust _that_ way,” Merlin responds, hoping it isn’t too soon to make a light joke.

Arthur snorts, the corner of his lip lifting a little. “Speaking of which: Is there anything _else_ I should know?”

Merlin purses his lips a moment, considering. “Do you remember that insane old wizard?” he asks.

xXx

“My lord, King Odin has been in the dungeons for two whole days now,” Sir Leon carefully reminds Arthur after training.

“Yes, I know. I have not forgotten. I am not sure what to do with him yet,” Arthur admits. “I will deal with the matter today.”

“Very good, Sire,” Leon replies.

“He is still being treated well?” Arthur asks.

“As well as can be, all things considered,” Leon answers.

“Good,” Arthur says with a nod, and heads up towards the royal chambers.

Guinevere is waiting for him, as usual.

“Arthur,” she greets, walking over to give him a kiss and help him with his armor. His new manservant is perfectly capable, but he likes it best when Guinevere assists him, and she seems to enjoy it as well. “How was training?”

“Good. The new recruits are doing well. There are a few from the lower town that are doing quite well indeed,” he answers. “One very nearly bested Gwaine this morning.”

“Impressive indeed,” she replies, smiling, happy her husband finally seems to be in a good mood. “Arthur, do you remember the other night when I said I had something to tell you?”

“Of course. I’ve been wondering when you were going to—” A brisk knock on the door interrupts them, and he sighs. “Come,” he calls, giving her an apologetic smile. “Ah, Merlin, I was going to send for you.”

“Yes, I know,” Merlin answers. “I just spoke with Sir Leon,” he adds, so they know his knowledge comes from traditional sources, not magical.

Guinevere stamps down her annoyance at being put aside once again. But she knew what she was getting into, marrying a king. Sometimes matters of the kingdom have to supersede personal matters. She stays nearby, wondering which particular matter is being given precedence this morning.

“What do you think I should do with Odin?” Arthur asks Merlin.

Guinevere sits at the table with the men, listening but not yet taking part in the conversation.

Merlin pauses a moment before answers. “He invaded Camelot, unprovoked. He has tried to kill you several times, and is responsible for your father’s death,” he says. “He should be executed.”

Arthur is quiet for a long time. Guinevere holds her breath.

“You must show that Camelot is strong,” Merlin presses. Then, inspiration strikes. “Let me do it for you. A public execution, as a way of showing exactly what kind of power this kingdom has.”

“No more killing,” the king finally says. Guinevere breathes.

“But—”

“I don’t want to execute him.” His tone is firm. “Yes, he’s tried to have me killed several times. Yes, he hired the assassin who killed Father.”

“Exactly my point—”

“But killing Odin will not bring my father back. It won’t bring back the knights who fell in battle,” Arthur continues. Then he looks straight at Merlin. “And if I let you kill him with your magic, we would be publicly disregarding the primary rule about magic use in Camelot.”

“I wouldn’t be using magic for evil! I would be doing it to _help_ you! To help the kingdom!” Merlin exclaims, his voice rising.

“Killing Odin will not solve anything!” Arthur shoots back. “It will only breed more animosity! I want _peace_ , Merlin, not vengeance!”

“I am your chief advisor, and I advise that you execute him for his crimes!” Merlin stands, yelling now, his face turning red. “You agreed to trust me unconditionally!”

Arthur also stands. “Only when it comes to issues dealing with magic!” he shouts. “And this is _not_ a magical issue! This is _war_ , and in that area, _I_ know best!” He gathers himself, mindful of Guinevere’s obvious discomfort. “Odin will not be executed. He will be offered a truce and alliance. If he refuses, he stays in our dungeons, but will be treated like any other prisoner.”

Merlin is fuming now, but he clenches his jaw and pushes down the magic he feels tingling at his fingertips. What he _wants_ to do is to blast his king across the room into the large mahogany wardrobe. He wants to do this, but he cannot. If he does that, Kilgarrah will be even angrier with him than he already is going to be.

What he _does_ do is say, through clenched teeth, “Shall I have the prisoner brought to the throne room, Sire?”

“Not yet. Have a messenger sent to Caerleon. I’d like to include him in this alliance as well,” Arthur says as he sits again. His tone cold and detached. Official.

“Very good, Sire,” Merlin replies, then turns on his heel and leaves.

Arthur leans forward and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “When did he get so bloodthirsty?” he asks.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Guinevere replies. She stands, walks around behind her husband’s chair, and begins rubbing his neck. Her strong thumbs knead soothing circles into his knotted muscles. “You made the right decision, Love,” she says. “I am glad you chose to spare his life, despite all he has done.”

“You think so?” he asks. “Oh, that feels good,” he groans.

“Yes. Merlin is wrong. We don’t need to kill Odin to show how strong Camelot is. I think the dragon took care of that already,” she says. “And strength isn’t always shown in acts of aggression. Strength can also be found in acts of mercy. In forgiving those who have wronged you. That is often more difficult than simply cutting someone down with a sword.”

“You are so wise,” Arthur says, taking her hand and kissing her palm.

“And you are wiser than you think,” Guinevere replies, allowing herself to be pulled down onto his lap. “You have an inherent goodness your father lacked,” she says, kissing his forehead.

“From what I understand, I get that from my mother,” he absently replies, burying his face in the side of her neck, inhaling her soothing lavender scent.

“Good thing, too. For you, for the kingdom, for me… for our son,” she quietly says.

He nods and sighs. Then, a moment later, he lifts his head. “Son?”

“Well, it could be a daughter,” she says, trying not to grin.

His eyes open wide, and he squeezes her in a tight hug. “Truly?” he asks, his voice rough with emotion.

“Yes,” she whispers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.”

“Don’t say it.” Merlin holds up his hand, palm facing towards the giant dragon glowering down at him. “I know.”

“Do you?” Kilgarrah asks. If he had eyebrows, one would be raised. “ _Do you?_ ” he repeats, more forcefully. “I gave you one task – _one_ – and you cannot even manage that much!”

“One??” Merlin incredulously echoes, raising his voice. “I have never had only one task in my life! Even when I was lying low and biding my time until Uther died, I was being pulled in so many directions it’s a wonder my arms aren’t twice as long as they should be!” He holds out his arms, then lets them drop at his side. “I never get a moment’s peace! ‘Merlin, do this!’ ‘Merlin, do that!’ If it wasn’t ‘Merlin, shine my armor’ it was ‘Merlin, fetch these herbs’ or ‘Merlin, put your own life at risk over and over and over again to protect Arthur so you’ll be able to make him your puppet when the time is right!”

“Merlin…”

“No! I have had it! Yes, I failed this time, but who’s to say this was my only opportunity? As long as Arthur’s alive, I have time—”

“You need to get him under your control before he fully comes into his own as king,” Kilgarrah booms, cutting him off. “He is dangerously close to finding his confidence. This victory for him is a bigger blow to our plans than you realize.”

Merlin bites his tongue to keep himself from replying that he no longer cares. That he’s tired of being _Kilgarrah’s_ puppet in order to make _Arthur_ his puppet. But he knows that if he defies him, not only will he lose his life, but the dragon will also either torture our kill his mother. Possibly both.

And he cannot do that to her.

Merlin heavily sits on a large boulder. “Gwen is pregnant,” he says. “If I fail with Arthur, perhaps I can influence—”

“That will not work,” Kilgarrah interjects. “Arthur’s heir will be tenfold stronger than he. His strength of character will be unparalleled.” He lowers his head and looks straight at Merlin. “And you know why.”

“Gwen,” Merlin says. “He will have his mother in him.”

The dragon nods. “She is not to be underestimated, young warlock,” he says.

Merlin looks up sharply. “What do you know?” he asks. He knows Gwen is strong; she is probably the strongest person he knows. But something in the dragon’s tone raises alarm bells in his head.

“Only that these dreams you have been having about her should not be ignored or brushed aside as meaningless. I can see nothing else,” Kilgarrah answers.

xXx

Arthur is just standing, preparing to leave the throne room, when Sir Leon hurries in. He weaves through the exiting people, a mixture of noblemen and commoners, who were all there to give reports to and seek petitions from the king.

“News from Caerleon?” Arthur asks once Leon reaches him.

“Um, yes,” the knight answers, passing a scroll of parchment bearing Caerleon’s seal.

“Thank you,” Arthur replies as he breaks the seal and opens it. He quickly scans the short reply, then looks up at his knight. “Have King Odin brought up here, please,” he says.

“Yes, Sire.” Leon gives a short bow and disappears.

Silence descends on the large room as the door closes behind the knight as he follows the last of the people out.

“You still think I should have Odin executed,” Arthur says after a moment. Merlin is still standing to the right of the king’s throne. He hasn’t said a word, but Arthur can feel his silent judgement burning into the back of his head.

“What I think is apparently irrelevant.” Merlin’s reply is cold and biting, with an uncharacteristic bitterness.

Arthur turns around. “You know I have always valued your opinion,” he says. “Even when you were just my servant, I did.” Merlin says nothing, so he adds, “You know how much it pains me to admit that.”

“Oh, yes, you’re a bloody saint, you are,” Merlin sarcastically replies. “You say you value my opinion. You even made me your advisor.” He steps closer to the king and says, “Yet you don’t listen to a word I say! How can you truly value my opinion if you don’t listen to it?”

“I do listen to you!” Arthur insists. “But I _am_ the king, and if I feel your advice is not in the best interest of the kingdom, I _can_ disagree with your advice and choose not to—”

“We had a deal!” Merlin interjects. “You agreed to trust me in all things. You cannot go back on this agreement.” His voice is low and deadly. Then his eyes snap up and he suddenly looks towards the door, which are just starting to open. He flicks his hand out and the doors close. They rattle a bit as Sir Leon tries to open them.

“Sire? Arthur? Is everything all right?” Leon’s muffled voice sounds through the doors.

“Yes,” Arthur calls, looking sideways at Merlin. “We’ll be with you shortly.” Then he turns back towards Merlin. “I am not going back on our agreement. I did not agree with your counsel in this area, and the last time I checked, I am still king,” he replies, keeping his voice down now.

“You made a promise. A solemn vow.”

“Yes. I legalized magic and made you my chief advisor. I _kept_ my promise.”

“You promised more than that,” Merlin cryptically says.

“I promised to trust your word with matters of magic,” Arthur says. “It’s not like I agreed to sell you my soul—” Merlin’s raised eyebrow stops his words, and his blood runs cold. “What did you do?”

xXx

Guinevere wakes up from her nap, a little disoriented. She looks around, blinking in the bright afternoon light, getting her bearings. “Arthur?” she calls.

The answering silence is heavy and eerie, and she suddenly gets an odd feeling that she needs to go to the throne room. She gets up, shoves her feet into her slippers and hurries out.

When she gets to the doors, she finds a pair of worried-looking knights standing with a confused and unhappy looking King Odin.

“Merlin has locked them inside,” Sir Leon says. “There was shouting before, but it’s quiet now.”

Guinevere reaches into a pocket in her skirts and pulls out a key.

“My lady, I don’t think that will w—” Sir Percival starts, but when her key opens the door, he falls silent.

She strides through and closes the door behind her.

Instinctively, Leon reaches for the door handle and finds it stuck tight again. He looks at Percival, whose helpless expression mirrors his own.

Inside the throne room, Guinevere finds them in a standoff: Merlin glaring, Arthur looking wary. She had heard Arthur’s words about selling his soul and something lights up in her memory as she slowly walks towards them.

“What did _you_ do?” Merlin asks, poking Arthur in the chest. “An agreement made in desperation. _A blood oath_. What did you think that all meant? We. Had. An. Agreement. An agreement that you are now violating.”

“And now you’re going to collect, is that it?” Arthur asks, taking a few steps back. The king doesn’t often show fear, but he looks truly fearful. He knows Merlin is powerful, but he has never seen the _full_ extent of his powers, and that makes him wary.

“You have left me no choice,” Merlin coldly replies, his eyes flashing gold as he takes a menacing step towards Arthur.

“Stop!” Guinevere yells, her feet automatically carrying her faster until she has positioned herself between the two men. Merlin startles and his blood runs cold as one of his more nebulous dreams crystallizes in his memory. “You cannot harm him,” she says, wheeling on Merlin. The words come out without her even thinking about them.

“He owes me his soul,” Merlin says, summoning his courage. It takes a tremendous amount of will, because his old friend suddenly looks much bigger and more dangerous than he’s ever seen her.

“He agreed to give you something that was not his to give,” Guinevere counters, face to face with Merlin now, fearless and stern.

“What?”

“What?”

“Arthur’s soul has been in _my_ possession since a week before we wed,” she says. “He gave it to _me_ , freely and willingly, while we were joined in the act of love,” she continues, staring hard at Merlin. “Whatever agreement you made with him would have already been too late. He cannot offer that which he does not own.” Her voice takes on a low, hard tone that neither man has ever head before.

Merlin looks at Arthur with Magical eyes and knows she’s right. He is still angry at Arthur, but he is angrier with himself.  _I should have seen it. Why didn’t I see it? Damn you, Gwen!_ Incensed, he swears, a string of angry words in an ancient tongue flying from his mouth. The torches gutter in their holders, and several candles flicker out completely.

Desperately, he makes a lunge, attempting to step around Guinevere to get to Arthur.

“You will not touch him!” Guinevere says, raising her voice now. Her words are like a physical barrier, and Merlin stops cold, stumbling a little with the suddenness of it.

“How…?” he gasps, shocked.

“Guinevere?” Arthur’s exclamation is equally shocked, but quieter, as he very wisely stays behind his wife.

Guinevere straightens her shoulders. “Arthur is under my protection. Your blood oath cannot break the bond he has with me.  _Especially_ not now,” she adds, her hand smoothing over the slight swell of her pregnant belly.

Merlin fixes his Sight on Guinevere now, and what he sees in and around her makes him crumble. She is glowing, not only with her own considerable strength, but with the strength of the New Life growing within her. He knows he is beaten. He cannot compete with this sort of magic. She doesn’t know she has it, but she wields it masterfully.

Merlin sags, tears suddenly flowing from his eyes. “I loved you… I loved you both… please… something can be done… a new arrangement… he’s going to destroy me if I don’t… he’ll hurt my mother…”

“Who?” Arthur quietly asks. He steps up beside Guinevere, sensing that the danger is over now.

“The dragon,” Merlin answers. “ _He_ is the mastermind behind all this, not me. He wants his revenge on Camelot for the annihilation of his kind… I am only doing as I have been commanded.”

“I thought you were a dragonlord and he had to listen to you,” Arthur says.

“I am… he does… but it’s not as simple as that. I can’t explain it in any way that you’ll be able to understand,” Merlin says, on his knees now.

“Go then,” Arthur says. “Leave this place.”

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, his eyes wide and fearful.

“It brings me no pleasure to say this, Merlin, but: you are banished from Camelot,” Arthur says, very near tears.

“Where will I go?” Merlin asks, suddenly feeling more helpless than he ever has.

“Anywhere but here,” Arthur says. “If you return…” he trails off, knowing there is no further punishment he can dispense that would be effective. Merlin has made that much abundantly clear. He can’t imprison him. He can’t execute him. Luckily, whatever is left of Merlin’s honor surfaces.

“I won’t. I give you my solemn word,” Merlin whispers.

“Your word is worthless to me now,” Arthur counters, and Merlin nods sadly. “You _will_ be gone by morning.”

Merlin nods once, but doesn’t move. “ He will be able to find me,” he whispers, almost to himself.

“That is a dilemma of your making Merlin,” Guinevere says.

“I had no choice,” Merlin counters.

“We always have a choice,” she reminds him. “Sometimes it’s just easier to think that we don’t.”

Merlin sadly nods again, and begins walking towards the doors.

“Merlin,” Guinevere calls, and he immediately stops and turns to face her. “Send your mother here. If she wishes to come here. We will protect her as best we can.”

“You will?”

“We will?”

“Hunith is a good woman and does not deserve to be punished for Merlin’s choices,” Guinevere explains. “And we will be needing a nursemaid for the baby.”

“Very good, my lady,” Merlin answers. “Thank you.” As he walks out, he feels incredibly small, cowed by the power and generosity of the queen who was once a serving girl.

xXx

After spending time as a prisoner in Camelot’s dungeons, even though he was given special treatment, Odin was more than agreeable to Arthur’s alliance proposal.

Personal matters – Odin’s son’s and King Uther’s deaths – were a little more tricky to sort out, but the two kings were finally able to put past wrongs behind them, with the help of some kind wisdom from Queen Guinevere.

By the time they finish the meeting with Odin, Merlin is gone, his rooms empty and scrupulously clean. He is nowhere to be found, yet no one saw him leave.

Nothing is said about the fight with Merlin or his hasty departure. No one, not even Gwaine or Gaius, is brave enough to ask, and neither Arthur nor Guinevere is forthcoming with details.

King Caerleon arrives the next day, and his wife, Queen Annis, makes the journey with him. The king had told his wife about the young king and queen, and she was keen to meet them, especially Guinevere, the commoner who became queen.

Queen Annis is not disappointed in the young monarchs of Camelot, and terms of an alliance between Odin, Caerleon, and Camelot are hammered out quickly and efficiently.

When their guests leave the next morning, Guinevere and Annis warmly bid one another farewell, each promising to keep up regular _personal_ correspondence with the other. Guinevere is happy to have a mentor to whom she can turn with questions, and Annis, who has only sons, is thrilled to have a young woman with whom she can pass on the knowledge she has gained from her experiences.

A few days later, things have calmed down a bit, and Guinevere decides to take a stroll in the gardens. Familiar with flowers and plants, she admires the work of the royal gardeners, picking a few blossoms that interest her to make a small bouquet.

She sits with her findings, resting in the sunlight for a moment. She closes her eyes, and realizes she does feel a bit tired and begins thinking about heading back up to their rooms to lie down for a bit before dinner.

When she opens her eyes, there is a raven perched on the arm of the bench. It has a folded bit of parchment clamped in its beak.

“Oh!” Guinevere exclaims, jumping slightly. “Hello,” she says once she recovers. Years of being around Merlin have desensitized her a bit to strange occurrences.

The raven leans down, opens its beak, and drops the parchment into her lap.

“Thank you?” she says, gingerly picking it up. The raven bobs its head once, caws once, and flies away.

She opens the note.

_Dear Gwen,_

_My mother has agreed to come to Camelot. I had to insist she leave her home, but she is thrilled that you want her to be the royal nursemaid. She will be arriving the day after you receive this note. I will be escorting her to the border, but no further. I would not presume to ask that you dispatch someone to meet her and see her the rest of the way, but if one of the knights happens to be near the eastern border on patrol tomorrow, perhaps he could keep an eye out for her._

_I will not tell you where I am going to go. You probably do not care and I think it will be safer for you if you do not know anyway. Just know that I will respect Arthur’s orders and never set foot in Camelot again._

_I have also placed a protective spell over the kingdom. It is the least I can do, since I can no longer be there in person to protect you._

_Perhaps you should not tell Arthur about that._

_Thank you for your kindness in taking care of my mother._

_I am sorry._

_-M._

Guinevere reads the letter twice. Then she folds it back up, tucks it in her pocket, and goes to find Arthur. She isn’t sure how he’ll react to the letter, but she is going to share it with him nevertheless.

Xxx  
One Year Later

“Do… do you ever hear from Merlin?” Guinevere hesitantly asks, looking over at Hunith as they watch the infant princess, who is squirming unhappily on her stomach on a large blanket, soft toys strewn around her.

“Yes, my lady. I received a message from him a few days ago, in fact,” Hunith answers.

“Did you? I didn’t see any messenger arrive,” Guinevere says.

“Oh. His messages are, um… unconventional, my lady,” Hunith explains.

“Yes, of course,” Guinevere replies, remembering the letter she received a year ago. “I had forgotten. He had a raven deliver me a letter shortly after he left.”

Hunith smiles, but it is a little sad. She is always a little sad about her son, but she only lets it show once in a while, and she knows the queen understands.

“How is he?” Guinevere carefully asks.

“He moves around a lot. Spent some time with the druids just after he left Camelot, exchanging knowledge. Then he sought out the company of a man called Alator. Some sort of wizard who had been in hiding, from the sounds of things,” Hunith says. The princess begins to fuss in earnest, and she hurries to pick her up.

“I’ll get her,” Guinevere says, scooping her daughter into her arms. She soothes and shushes her, stroking her dark curls and kissing her round cheeks.

“He has let his hair and beard grow,” Hunith absently says as she begins tidying up the princess’ toys. “He also changes his appearance periodically. Magically, I mean. He sometimes adopts the appearance of an old man – that was something to see! – but often it is something simple like changing the color of his hair or making himself fatter or shorter.”

“Something to see?” Guinevere asks, concerned. “How have you seen him?” she carefully asks.

“Oh!” Hunith exclaims, standing up straight. “I promise you he hasn’t been here, my lady! The messages he sends…” she pauses wringing her hands. “Perhaps you should see one.”

Guinevere pauses, delicately unwrapping her daughter’s fingers from around a lock of her hair. “Perhaps later. I think I will need to bolster myself a bit first.”

“Understood, my lady,” Hunith acknowledges. “The king is welcome as well. Merlin… he misses you both so much. But he understands – and agrees with – his punishment.”

“I am sorry it had to happen the way it did,” Guinevere says, reaching out with her free hand to touch the older woman’s arm.

“As am I. And while he is my only son, he is a grown man who made his own choices. I am simply sorry they were not always the right choices. I tried to raise him better than that,” Hunith says with a sigh.

“Do not shoulder the blame, Hunith,” the queen says. “As you said: he is a grown man. And he knew what he was doing was not right. It might have been easier, but what is easy is often not what is right.”

xXx

Guinevere softly knocks on Hunith’s door the next evening, after the princess has gone to sleep for the night.

“My lord, my lady,” Hunith greets, nodding deferentially. “Please, come in.”

Hunith’s rooms are larger than her home was in Ealdor, but still among the more modest accommodations in the castle. She keeps her quarters tidy and spotlessly clean.

“Thank you, Hunith,” Arthur says. “I am not certain this is a good idea, but…” he pauses, looking at Guinevere, “our curiosity has been piqued.”

“I understand, my lord,” Hunith replies with a nod. “Please, sit,” she adds, then moves towards an armoire in the corner. She opens a drawer, pauses over it for a few moments, then withdraws an item wrapped in cloth. “I think this one will do.”

She brings it to the king and queen and sets it on the table. Unfurling the cloth, she reveals a large crystal shard.

Arthur looks at it, then up at her. “A crystal? His message is a crystal?”

“Look into it, Sire,” she explains.

Arthur and Guinevere stare into a large facet of the crystal on the table in front of them, and a moment later, a shape comes into focus.

It is Merlin, but not the Merlin they once knew. He is implausibly thinner, and his bright blue eyes stand out against pale skin framed by shoulder-length black hair and a scraggly black beard.

Guinevere softly gasps, her hand covering her mouth.

“Hello, Mother. I hope you are well,” Merlin says. “I trust the princess is thriving under your care, and I’m sure she is growing more beautiful every day.” He smiles a little, but his eyes display his true heartbreak. “I am moving on again tomorrow, heading across the sea this time. I hope to be safe there, in another land.” His voice grows softer now, and a little ragged. “He still pursues me… I can feel his presence whenever he gets close. It’s like… a tingling… like when you fall asleep on your arm and when you wake up, it feels all prickly? Except it’s inside my head. Sharp. It grows more intense the closer he gets.” His eyes dart around for a moment, then he seems to collect himself. “I don’t think he can make the journey across the sea,” he whispers. “He is very old… he is getting weaker. I can tell. But I cannot grow complacent.” He inhales deeply and slowly releases it. “If… if Gwen or… or Arthur ever ask about me, tell them I am sorry. I am always sorry. Tell them I miss them and I love them and I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes a moment. “Take care of them, and the princess, and all the other little ones that will come along. But most importantly, take care of yourself. I love you, Mum. I miss you, too, but I can sleep at night knowing that you are safe with them. I will send word when I reach my destination. Love you.”

He fades from view. Guinevere looks up, tears in her eyes. Arthur wraps his arm around her shoulders, but his face is inscrutible.

“Thank you for sharing that with us, Hunith. Was this the most recent correspondence?” he asks.

“Yes, my lord.”

Arthur nods, then stands. “I am glad he is still alive,” he says. “Excuse me.”

He leaves, and Guinevere wraps the crystal shard back up and hands it to Hunith. “It is difficult for him,” she says.

“I know,” Hunith says, returning it to its drawer. “They were like brothers.”

“At times,” Guinevere allows with a chuckle. “Do you send messages back to him?”

“Will I be in trouble if I say yes?” Hunith asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“Of course not,” Guinevere answers, standing. “He is your son.”

“Then yes, I do. He taught me how.”

“Please tell him… we are… pleased he still lives,” Guinevere says. “That is the best I can do right now.” She knows she cannot say they miss him, too, or wish him well, or forgive him. Hunith knows this as well.

“I understand, my lady. He will be happy to have any acknowledgement from you,” she says.

Guinevere nods, then walks towards Hunith. “Thank you for sharing that with us.” She repeats Arthur’s words, but in a gentler tone, then hugs the nursemaid. “Sleep well.”

“You’re welcome, my lady, and you too,” Hunith replies.

Guinevere makes her exit and goes off in search of her husband.

She finds him in their rooms, staring out of an open window. “You’re going to catch a chill,” she says, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek on his back.

Arthur closes the window and turns around, holding her arms around him. “I closed it for you. I don’t want _you_ to catch a chill,” he says, bending down to kiss her forehead. “Wouldn’t be good for the baby.”

“Arthur, I am only _just_ with child,” she says, chuckling.

“All the more reason,” he insists. “Come to bed. I need…” he trails off, his fingers already reaching for the ties on the back of her gown.

“I know,” she responds, nosing into the open vee of his collar and kissing his chest. “I know,” she repeats, her voice a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Happy is he who has the pure truth in him. He will regret no sacrifice that keeps it.”


End file.
